Sherlock's Mind
by R. K. Sprague
Summary: Sherlock's having a hard time getting information from a witness to a violent crime. Problem is, the witness is a kid who refuses to talk and driving Sherlock crazy. Time for him to turn to an old friend...  part 2 of 'Sherlock's Heart'
1. Reunion

Chapter One: Reunion

Someone rushed over and grabbed the little boy as he stood in a daze in the park. The mother who had spotted him reacted instantly and started looking him over, screaming for someone to call the police.

She didn't understand what she was seeing. This little boy was fine but barely responsive, as if in a trance. He just stared down at the ground as she searched for a mark of any kind. She couldn't see how this was possible.

He didn't even have a scratch and yet he was covered in blood.

The tall man walked into the coffee shop and straight up to the counter, locking eyes with the barista. He had seen her before. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail as she turned around and jumped, not expecting someone to be at the counter. Or at the very least, leaning over it so far just staring at her.

"Can I help you…?" she asked nervously, caught a bit off guard by his sudden appearance.

"Where is Zoey?" He asked, almost demanding.

"Sherlock!" John walked in after him, panting from having to run to catch up. The larger man had a sudden urge to see his old resource and decided to stop by since they were in the area. "I told you, she doesn't work here anymore."

"You never told me that." He said indignantly as he turned around to face his companion.

"Yes, I did, Sherlock. Months ago. Remember?" He sighed and rubbed his neck. He usually remembered everything but given that he had a patch of boredom around that time, he probably ignored him as usual. "I also don't think she would appreciate you suddenly popping up at her job after not seeing or talking to her in almost a year."

He spun to face the barista again, who jumped in surprise a second time. "Do you know where I can find her?"

"Um, no… She still comes by every once in a while but I haven't seen her for about a week." Amelia shrugged, looking over at Jess for some help. "Right?"

"Yeah. Sounds about right." Jess nodded and wiped her hands on her apron. "I can give you her number if you want to call her…"

"I prefer to text." Sherlock grumbled as he headed for the door and threw it open. "Congratulations by the way."

As the door closed behind him, John was met with a look of surprise from Jess and confusion from Amelia. "Congratulations on what?" The blonde asked.

"There's no way he could know that…" Jess shook her head, wide eyed in awe. "He couldn't have. I haven't told anyone."

"About what?" John asked, rather puzzled himself.

"I'm pregnant…" She said, still in a daze. "But how could he have…"

John sighed and smiled. "Don't ask how he knows. It's just something he does." His phone buzzed and he took it out, reading a text from Sherlock. Putting it back in his pocket he jogged out the door. "Congratulations."

Sherlock and John walked over to the blue taped barrier and Sergeant Donovan rolled her eyes. "They actually called you here for this one?" she huffed.

"Well apparently your level of intellect isn't needed and further. Now, is it?" Sherlock snipped back as he lifted the tape and John followed, ducking under the tape and giving Donovan a halfhearted smile of apology.

"Ah, Sherlock, about time you showed up." Mycroft stood next to Lestrade, spinning his umbrella. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"What is this all about, Mycroft? Most police business isn't in your area of interest."

"It seems that there was a murder but we can't confirm that yet." Lestrade said as he crossed his arms. "The only thing we know is that a crime of violent nature was committed and there's only one known witness."

"That still doesn't explain why Mycroft found this case of interest unless it's political or of national security." Sherlock looked away, appearing bored, already losing interest.

"The witness was found covered in blood. None of it was his." Lestrade said. "They sent the blood for testing but seeing as how a politician and his family went missing a week ago…"

"My god…" John breathed. "Covered in..?"

"So Mycroft is here cause of the politician's involvement." Sherlock looked the other way and sighed. "Just talk to the witness to find out where he got covered in blood. Case solved. Why am I here? Are you even sure that this 'witness' didn't do it and is trying to cover what he did?"

"Because the witness is a little boy!" Mycroft huffed as he turned to look at the one ambulance inside the barricade. "And for some reason, he's not talking."

"Again, other than no clues, why should I take interest in this case?"

"Because I'm putting the boy under your supervision." Mycroft sneered. "If he has a trace of anything on him, you'll find it and I'm sure you'll come up with a way to make him talk."

"Children aren't my strong suit. And this is all because of the government. Why should I be interested?" Sherlock put his hands in his pockets and pulled out his phone, texting. "If you need someone to make the child cooperate…"

"I already have one of my best people on it." Lestrade replied as he pointed to a woman sitting in the ambulance next to the child.

The boy was no more than four years old, with dark hair that fell in loose curls. He wore a pair of pajamas that were a size too big that the police had given him seeing as how Anderson was bagging his clothes for evidence. His eyes were vacant as he looked down at his feet, refusing to make eye contact.

Something had seriously traumatized this boy somehow. Sherlock's interest piqued slightly.

The woman sitting beside him tucked her blonde hair behind her ear as it escaped her ponytail. She had taken off her jacket and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders as she talked to him in a quiet voice. After a moment she picked up her phone and looked at it before putting it back down. She noticed Lestrade point out of the corner of her eye and sat up more. She rubbed the boy's back as she kept her eye on the small group as they walked over.

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise for an instant as he recognized the woman's familiar heart shaped face and curious blue eyes. She had changed her bangs, growing them out some and pulling them to the side; her hair was longer than he remembered and looked as if she had flipped the ends before pulling it up. She had ditched her glasses and he presumed was wearing contacts presently as well as adding some make-up. Her normal uniform of jeans and a t-shirt were now discarded for a blouse and skirt and her sneakers swapped for heels.

For a moment, he questioned whether she was in fact the same woman he had encountered a year ago in the coffee shop. Her whole appearance had changed and he was intrigued as to the reason why. He wondered why she had decided to grow up.

She locked eyes with Sherlock after briefly scanning Mycroft and Lestrade's faces and acknowledging John. Her mouth smiled but her eyes remained unreadable as she greeted him.

"Well, if it isn't the great Sherlock Holmes. It's been a while." Her voice was still soft like he had remembered but the sweetness seemed to have been pushed aside for this occasion.

"Yes, it has been a while. It's nice to see you again, Zoey."


	2. Sherlock's Assignment

Chapter Two: Sherlock's Assignment

I looked him over; the same tall, arrogant man he had been when I last saw him. He hadn't changed a bit. He was even wearing the same jacket and scarf that I had mentally attributed to him. I was surprised at how I felt at that moment.

We had been friends; fairly close ones by his standards, and yet I hadn't heard a peep from him in over six months. John stopped by occasionally just to check up on me and keep me posted about what they were up to, calling me from time to time. Yet Sherlock Holmes had not even sent me one text.

I knew he wasn't the social type. He wasn't one for a friendly conversation about the weather or your family but it still made my blood boil that I apparently wasn't a good enough friend to keep Sherlock's attention. Here was a man I had fought tooth and nail with to save my brothers from his arch enemy. HIS. Not mine. Here was a man that I cared for greatly; a man I worried about and he was standing right in front of me.

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do or say. I knew why he hadn't kept in contact whenever he had a spare moment. That wasn't his style. I found myself pushing down all those feelings that I had developed and held on to and pushed them down. I couldn't be angry at him. I couldn't be upset. This wasn't about me. That's not why he was here.

I rubbed the small shoulders of the boy that had been found. As of this moment, he was no one and everyone to me. He had no name, nothing to identify him. We had no one to call and he wasn't telling us anything.

"Well, if it isn't the great Sherlock Holmes. It's been a while." I wondered if he sensed my mild hostility.

"Yes, it has been a while. It's nice to see you again, Zoey." Oh good, he remembered my name.

After saying my pleasantries, I turned my attention back to the boy. He had hardly moved since he had been found. He hadn't run or cried. He hadn't told anyone who he was or where he came from. He just stood there until the police arrived and now remained in his trance sitting in the ambulance.

"What happened exactly?" Sherlock asked as he walked over to us.

"A woman called the police after finding him wandering around the park covered in blood." I replied as I touched the child's head, stroking his soft wavy locks. "He hasn't uttered a sound since then."

"Which direction did he come from?"

"We don't know. She just saw him and ran to help." He moved slightly into my palm so I continued playing with the dark curls.

"A lot of help they were if they didn't see which direction he came from."

"Sherlock!" I snapped, making him turned and look at me quickly. "When a child is covered, I repeat: COVERED in blood, remembering which way he came from is the least concern." I was frustrated quicker with him than I first thought. After all we had gone through with those other kids, he still hadn't learned much.

"When trying to find the origin of the blood, it does matter." He responded calmly, as though it were obvious.

"I know, but this isn't the time or place."

"If you two are finished bickering like an old married couple," Lestrade cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "We've decided that the only person who could get any valuable information out of this kid is Sherlock. However, the only person remotely possible of making him talk would be you, Zoey."

I knew where this was going and was suddenly very against the idea.

"You're both going to keep watch over this kid until we can find out who he is and where he came from. He's under your supervision."

Sherlock spun around with a rather strange expression. I could only describe it as a look of anger, confusion, and a touch of fear. "I am not a babysitter."

"No, but she is." John said motioning to me, receiving a dirty look from Sherlock at being betrayed by the doctor.

"Look, you two are the best we got right now, okay?" Lestrade sighed, rubbing his temples. "You can figure out the information that she gets."

"You can't make me care for this kid." Sherlock growled, obviously not pleased about being ganged up on.

"Oh, but we can." Mycroft said as he raised a finger, smirking. From the look on his face, he had a way to make Sherlock cooperate whether he wanted to or not.

After much more debate about the whole thing, Sherlock reluctantly was forced to give in. He stood beside me now, hands in his pockets as he looked away from me, sulking. By now the boy had grown tired and had leaned against me as he closed his eyes. It was a rather nice feeling as I wrapped an arm around him. He was warm and had the familiar feel that Ian and Kayden had when I last saw them.

"You know this isn't about you. They're not forcing you to do this to punish you for anything. They're doing it for him. Like you should be."

"Caring about the child won't help me find where the blood came from. Wasting time and emotion on this child is pointless to receive facts." He said, sounding colder than usual.

"Sometimes showing a little kindness is all it takes for someone to open up and tell you exactly what you need." I said as I looked down at the boy who had moved again and now had his head in my lap as a pillow. "Sometimes the most important things are the small quiet ones that we miss."

"Babysitting isn't part of my job."

"No one said it had to be. It's not just you who's stuck with this kid. John and I are as well and you don't hear us complaining."

"You both are simple minded and dwell too much on the feelings of others." He looked down at me, looking me over as I cradled the boy and played with his hair. "Putting effort towards caring for a complete stranger…"

"Now who's the one acting like a child?" I snapped, glaring up at him. "Just because you're asked to do something you don't like doesn't mean you can sulk like a little kid who won't get his way! Grow up! This world isn't all about you and doesn't revolve around you, as much as you'd like to think it does."

His eyes locked with mine as we had a stand-off for a minute, just looking at one another with stubbornness and determination in both our eyes. He suddenly looked away and huffed. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" I asked, tired of fighting with him. I knew that although he might give in, he would do things his way. I could never win.

"You grew up. Why?"

"You're smart. I'm sure you can figure it out." I replied softly as a squad car pulled up to take us home. For the time being, the boy would stay at my place since I was fully aware of how Sherlock kept his flat, much to John's chagrin. I still couldn't believe he had put a hand in his fridge.

I carefully wiggled myself out from under the sleeping child's head and stepped out of the back of the ambulance, turning around to pick him up. I lifted him and felt him move to lay his head on my shoulder as I walked away from Sherlock.

"You're not off the hook, you know." I turned around after I had settled the boy into the back of the car. "Just cause he's staying with me doesn't mean you're free from your duty." I smiled as I got into the passenger seat, looking at the detective who remained where I had left him. "You still have to help me. Which means I'll be teaching you how to be a parent."


	3. Whats in a Name

Chapter Three: What's in a Name

The next morning I showed up at the familiar door of 221b Baker Street and promptly let myself in as John allowed. Sherlock was sitting in his chair reading a book and looked up when the door opened.

I could see a flicker of fear in his eyes as I walked in holding the small hand of the boy from last night. He still hadn't said a word.

"Have you gotten anything out of him yet?"

"No, not yet. But he's a scared little kid. We have to give him time." I knelt down and took off the jacket Ian had left behind on his last visit. I had managed to borrow an outfit from my neighbor down the hall after I explained the situation. I would have to go shopping later.

"We may not have time. As time passes, things get washed away or dissolve. Time changes the evidence left behind."

"And time is something you will have to give him to recover! He's not some blood sample you can stick under a microscope and find whatever it is you're looking for!" I ran my hand through my hair which I had left down for a change and sighed. "You're back to being the same old Sherlock I first met."

"I haven't had the luxury of settling down to do some soul searching, my dear." He said as he snapped the book closed and stood up, eyes narrow.

"Perhaps you should consider it." I draped the boy's coat over my arm and began to mess with his hair. His curls falling wherever they pleased. He looked up at me slightly as I noticed his pale eyes for the first time. Something clicked inside me as I stared into his icy blue gaze. It was no longer completely vacant as I caught a glimpse of something; something I couldn't quite make out. I knew that I had to help this boy. I had to protect him.

"Do you even know what to call him?" Sherlock sighed as he watched the two of us, his hands on his hips. "Because I refuse to keep calling him 'Boy' or 'Child' and I know you think likewise."

I smiled at his gesture, it was a sign that the Sherlock I had last encountered hadn't totally disappeared. "I don't know yet, but let's find out."

I turned the boy to look at me and I raised his chin with my finger. "Hey… Do you want to tell me your name? I'm Zoey. It's very nice to meet you." I took his hand and shook it. He stared at our hands for a moment before turning and looking up at Sherlock. "That's Sherlock. He's going to help me find out why you were so dirty last night."

"Dirty is hardly the word I would use." Sherlock mumbled as he crossed his arms. From where I was on the floor, Sherlock looked very menacing as he scowled.

"Hush! He's just a kid!" I snapped as I looked at the boy again. "Do you want to tell me your name?" He shook his head. "Do you know how to write? Can you spell your name?" He shook it again. I figured as much since the boy wasn't even primary school age. "Well then… How about we give you a new name? Just until we find out who you are. Okay?"

This time he nodded, his face warming up to me a little since we'd first met. It wasn't much, but it was a start. John walked out of his room rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, there's the little guy." He knelt down and held out his hand, smiling warmly. "My name is John. I saw you last night."

The boy took a step back and bumped into my arm, looking up at me with uncertainty. I smiled and motioned towards John. "He's okay. He was talking to the nice policeman last night. He wants to help you, too."

The boy stared at Johns hand and didn't take it. After a moment John patted his knees and stood up with a slight grunt. "Alright then. Whats the plan for today?"

"We were about to give him a name since he doesn't want to tell us his." I said as a fiddled with the curls again. "Any ideas?"

"Sedgewick." Sherlock stated as he stared at the boy. John and I both stared at him with disbelieving expressions.

"You can't.. be serious." I stated in a voice that questioned his sanity.

"Too Victorian, Sherlock." John sighed. "What about Eric?"

"Dull." Sherlock shot him down and sighed. "Edward."

"While it does sound a bit more normal… No way." I shook my head as I remembered hearing about the debates over some stupid book series in high school.

"Why?"

"…..Nevermind." I turned away to look at the boy once more. Now that I had more time to really look at him, I realized that he resembled someone. "He kinda looks like you, Sherlock."

"No he doesn't!" Sherlock shot back. "His nose is smaller, not to mention his bone structure isn't even close, and his pinna is shaped all wrong!"

"His what?"

"Pinna. The curved part of the ear." Sherlock pointed to his own ear with a finger and sighed. "Really, the ignorance of you people sometimes."

"Albert?" John shrugged a hand to his chin in thought. "Like Einstein? If we're going to say he looks like Sherlock, we may as well give him a smart name. He looks clever enough."

"Good idea." I smiled. "There are tons of good names from smart—"

"Rembrandt." Sherlock blurted out, looking slightly pleased with himself. "It's perfect."

"Nooo… it's not." I raised my eyebrow at him and the boy even looked a bit disappointed with that suggestion.

"Why ever not? It's artistic and I would have thought that you of all people could appreciate a name with such a classically trained and skillful history!"

"We are not naming him Rembrandt!"

Sherlock appeared rather disappointed and huffed. "Fine. I'm don't chiming in with legitimately great suggestions and having them turned down." He walked into the kitchen and picked up and apple, taking a bite.

"Apple… That's it! Newton!" I grinned and looked at the boy. "How about Isaac? Do you like that one?" He nodded and I smiled wider. "You look like an Isaac."

"No one can look like a name." Sherlock grumbled as he ate the apple and walked back in. "That's impossible."

"I just meant that the name fits him. If I were to call him Alan I can't very well picture his face going along with that name. Like you. You look like a Sherlock. The name suits you."

He sighed and put the apple down on the mantle next to the skull which resided there. Isaac's eyes landed on it and he walked over beside Sherlock, looking up at him and staring.

"What?" Sherlock looked down at the child and when Isaac just continued starring; Sherlock began to look a tad unnerved. "What do you want?" A small hand extended up and pointed to the mantle. Sherlock turned and looked at the skull then back down at the boy. "No. You can't have it."

I walked over and picked Isaac up so he could see the skull up close. Sherlock kept a close eye on him in case he made a move to try and grab it; I assumed he feared the boy would damage it. "He just wants to look. It's not like he can kill it."

"No, but with how unpredictable children are he may damage the anatomical accuracy."

"Sherlock, it's a skull." I rolled my eyes as I set Isaac down and he went to look around some more. "Besides, you're wrong. Children are only unpredictable if you don't familiarize yourself with them. Once you know a child, you can understand how they think and can better assess their actions."

His eyes narrowed. "You're trying to rope me into your little scheme."

"Learning how relate to children isn't a scheme, Sherlock. It's something everyone should know how to do. Besides, if you want to find out where this boy came from, you need to learn to think like him."

He was about to respond when he suddenly ran across the room to prevent Isaac from drinking out of a beaker he had left on a pile of books. "No! That could erode your intestines and dissolve you from the inside, damaging vital organs and tis…" When all he received was a blank stare he looked over at me and sighed. "You're going to make this difficult for me aren't you?"

"In order to understand him, you have to think like him." I repeated as I leaned against the mantle. John was watching, finding the whole thing rather amusing. "If that means toning down the genius blabber, then so be it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at the large blue eyes staring back at him, waiting. "Do not drink this. You could…" I saw his face twist as he resisted the use of large words. "You could hurt yourself." He held up the beaker and pointed to it. "Don't touch this. Don't touch anything in here."

"See, now, was that really so hard?" John asked as he ruffled Isaac's hair.

Sherlock responded with a look of disgust as he set the beaker out of reach. "I have more important things to do than babysit some naïve child that insists on sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."

"Understand the mind of a child, Sherlock." I held up a finger. "They don't understand what is harmful yet or not. They have to be shown and told right from wrong."

Isaac looked up at John when he ruffled his hair and then back at Sherlock, his bottom lip sticking out slightly in an apologetic pout. Sherlock looked down at him for a moment then squatted to get to his eye level.

"You're going to be all sorts of trouble for me, aren't you?" He mumbled as Isaac merely looked back, sticking his lip out further. Sherlock reached out with a finger and poked Isaac's lip, attempting to return it to its normal position. I couldn't help but smile as I walked over.

"Now then, aside from learning how to take care of him, we need to have to see what you can learn from him."


	4. Marks

Chapter Four: Marks

We set Isaac down on the couch and I sat beside him as Sherlock sat on the coffee table across from him. He clapped his hands together and pressed them against his chin as he studied the round little face. His brows furrowed as he stared, leaning closer and causing Isaac to lean back out of intimidation.

Sherlock reached out and took his hand, turning it over and looking at it carefully. His eyes narrowed and darted over to me then back at the child. His face hardly changed as he continued his investigation.

"He's the child of someone with extensive funds yet it isn't utterly lavished upon him. I'd say one of his parents was Italian, or at least partially. The other was obviously of Nordic heritage. Now, something has recently caused this child a great deal of stress…"

"No duh." I looked at Sherlock as I played with the soft curls. I had discovered that it kept Isaac calm and cooperative. It was also enjoyable and relaxing for me.

"Aside from the other night." He corrected himself and picked up the tiny hand to show me. "He's been biting his nails. Mostly it's a nervous habit but the degree in which he's chewed them shows me that it was caused by extensive panic. Something distressed this boy, and frequently."

He let go of the hand and John walked over, sitting beside me. He had left us for a brief time in order to change for work."So what else can you tell us?"

"Nothing much." He stood up and sighed, looking out the window, a distant and frustrated look in his eyes. "Anderson took this boy's clothes and with it any potential evidence. Without that, the only other thing I can tell you is that this boy is between three and a half to four years old and probably born sometime in the spring."

I smiled and shook my head. "You forgot to mention something very important."

"And what would that be?"

"He's allergic to nuts." I said, making both men look at me with some surprise. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you both couldn't figure that out."

John shook his head. "I for one would like to know how you came to that conclusion."

I rolled back Isaac's sleeve, revealing a metal bracelet with a medical emblem on it. "It's a medic alert bracelet. On the other side it tells what they are allergic to or of they have certain medical conditions like diabetes or epilepsy." I flipped the metal charm over. "See? He's allergic to nuts."

I could have sworn that I saw Sherlock's eye twitch slightly before he turned going to grab scissors. Isaac looked at Sherlock then at me, questioningly.

"What are you going to do with those?" John asked, having gotten up and getting ready to head to the clinic.

"Cut his hair. Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock sat down on the table once more and made a move towards Isaac, who quickly ducked and wiggled around behind me. He apparently wasn't keen on the idea of having a stranger come at him with two sharp blades. Sherlock groaned and tried again, only to have me grab his hand.

"If you want a sample, why don't you try seeming less like a serial killer?" I took them out of his hand and John walked over, taking them from me as I put the child on my lap. "Is that okay, Isaac? Can we cut just a little bit of your hair? Sherlock wants to see if your hair is hiding a secret."

"I do not. I want to see if he has any pollen or additional residue attached to his…" He stopped upon receiving looks from both me and John and sighed deeply. "Yes… I want to see if there's a secret in your hair…" He practically growled the last part, no doubt feeling exceedingly foolish at having been brought down to the level of someone with an average mental capacity.

Isaac looked at john as he sat on my lap and held my hand as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Have you had your hair cut before?" John asked as he knelt down. Isaac nodded, eyes staying shut. No doubt he was anticipating the hair to fall into his eyes and wanted to prevent it. "Now, hold still. This won't hurt."

"Of course it won't. There are no nerve endings in hair once it leaves the scalp. Where the follicle attaches is where all the nerves are located. Cutting his hair would only hurt if you attempted to pull his hair out while in the process." Sherlock said, making me look at him.

"Really? He's a four year old kid. It makes no difference where the nerve is located."

John snipped off one of the smaller curls, catching it in his palm to hand it over to Sherlock. "There, will this do?"

"For the time being." Sherlock took it and went to fetch a plastic bag to keep it contained and safe until he was able to examine it more closely.

"Well in that case, I'd best be off to work." John stood up again and ruffled Isaac's hair, making the boy pull away slightly out of annoyance. "I'll be back sometime around six. Don't wait up."

I picked Isaac up and looked over at Sherlock. "If you're finished with him I believe it's time for your first real lesson. Come on, we're going to my place for this."

"Whatever could it be that I need to go to your flat in order to observe the actions of a child?"

"Well, seeing as he is rather dirty from yesterday, I'd say it's time we gave him a bath."

I managed to drag Sherlock back to my place under the suggestion that during the bath, some residue that was caught in his hair or skin may wash off and need to be salvaged before the tub was drained. He reluctantly joined me and waited as I undressed the squirming boy.

I had filled the tub with warm water, paying careful attention that it didn't get too hot, and added some of the little used bubble bath I had laying around. I helped Isaac into the tub and then turned to Sherlock.

"I need to go get him a towel. You at least know how to scrub I assume?"

"This is ridiculous. What can I possibly gain from helping a child clean himself?" Sherlock argued as I handed him the shampoo and a wash rag.

"Just wash his hair! You don't know where I keep the towels and I won't leave hi unsupervised."

"Second door down the hall on the left. Third shelf up."

I stared at him for a moment before I pushed him into the bathroom. "I'm not even going to ask; just wash him."

As I opened the cabinet and reached for one of the blue towels I heard splashing and smiled. Sherlock cried out after one of the larger splashes and I shook my head. "Just make sure that you don't get soap in his eye."

A few moments later I heard a screech and crying, causing me to run back down the hall to see what had happened. Sure enough, Isaac was rubbing his eyes as he cried and Sherlock was soaked. "I said DON'T get it in his eye!"

"He refused to hold still!" Sherlock shot back, his hair dripping as he stood up and grabbed a hand towel, rubbing it vigorously over his head. "You wash him! He refuses to even let me touch him."

"Fine, go get the towels. I dropped them back in the hallway." I snatched the towel from his hand and started wiping Isaac's face with it. "Shh… It's okay. I know it stings but it will go away."

He calmed down eventually as I dried his face and started washing his arms and back. I rubbed his shoulder and paused. "Sherlock? The police checked Isaac for injuries before they let him go with us, right?"

"Yes, as is protocol. I thought you would know this as well as anyone." He walked into the bathroom with the towels and set them on the back of the toilet. "Why are you asking?"

I had thought it was dirt when I had first seen it but now the heat from the bathwater brought it out in full glory. Sherlock and I stared in both horror and wonder at the large purple bruise in the shape of a man's fist on the small child's back.


	5. Feelings

Chapter Five: Feelings

I quickly grabbed the towel from the toilet and wrapped it around Isaac as I yanked him out of the tub, setting him on the sink as I quickly dried him off. I folded the towel around his lap and lifted his arm.

Sure enough, there were other bruises covering his tiny body. I felt a wave of anger and sadness wash over me as I memorized each mark. He had the fist on his back over his shoulder blade, a hand wrapped around his arm on the opposite side of his body. Another gripped his hip as I gently ran my fingers over each one. I felt my throat tighten and start to burn as my eyes stung with held back tears of hatred.

He was just a little boy.

I looked up at him after inspecting his legs and he was watching me, looking almost ashamed as he remained still. I suddenly scooped him up into my arms and clutched him tightly to my chest, trying not to cry in front of him. I stroked his still wet hair and buried my face in his tiny neck.

"I'm so sorry…" I whispered as I hugged him, not wanting to let go. His skin was soft against my hands and I could feel just how fragile he was. He was so small; it was so easy to break him.

Sherlock went and got one of my smaller shirts that I had left out for him to sleep in for the time being and I pulled it over him, touching him gently. "There we go." I smiled slightly as I moved his bangs out of his eyes. "All clean and ready for bed."

I carried him into my room and pulled back the covers, setting him down on my bed. He crawled until he reached the pillow then sat down, climbing under the covers. I smiled and pulled them up over him as he settled onto my pillow. A gray blob hopped up and sauntered across the mattress, curling up alongside him. Isaac smiled and rolled over to pet Arthur. Since Isaac arrived last night, I could hardly separate the two.

I went to stand up when tiny fingers grabbed my sleeve. I looked down and Isaac was staring at me, his eyes wide with worry. My heart felt like it was about to break as I sat down.

"You're afraid I'm upset…" He nodded and my eyes welled up with tears again. I leaned down, cupping his cheeks in my hand as our foreheads touched. "I'm not upset. I could never be upset at you… You are a wonderful little boy…" I kissed his forehead and sat up. "Now get some sleep."

I walked to the door and turned off the light, taking in the image of him curled up in my bed next to Arthur who was purring. He was the best stuffed animal that kid could have.

"Sweet dreams."

Upon pulling the door closed until there was just a crack and turning around, I discovered Sherlock Holmes standing in the hallway with his arms crossed. He looked me over, his eyes judging and analyzing as they took everything in.

"You've changed so much and yet not at all. It's rather confusing you know." He walked over and grabbed my arm, frustration on his face. "I don't like being confused."

"Fine. Tell me how I'm exactly the same and yet so different and I'll straighten some facts out for you." After what I had seen tonight I was in no mood for Sherlock to be Sherlock.

"You used to be all about ease and comfort and now you're wearing suits and heels. That tells me that something happened to make you change that aspect of your life. You wanted to be professional. You've also been styling your hair and applying make-up which tells me maturity was an issue. Perhaps it was because of Moriarty. He targeted kids close to you and you could relate to them. That made you a danger to them. You had to grow up.

You switched from a life of safety, painting and sketching into one filled with the things you grew up only hearing about. You hated most of what you heard but something about the mystery and unpredictability of the human nature caught your attention. You went from an aspiring art student into a member of the Yard. You knew what you were getting into and giving up."

I pulled away and stormed into my living room which still had a canvas set up off to the side. My home was neater than when he had first come to visit. "I haven't given anything up!" I said, trying not to let my emotions overflow too much. I refrained from shouting due to Isaac sleeping right down the hall.

"I may have changed my initial career path and I may have matured but I haven't given anything up! Okay, yes, I changed what I wear and I take time to make myself look nice but that doesn't mean that I've changed who I really am! It doesn't change the things that I care about!" I threw my hands into the air and then rubbed my neck, shaking my head and chuckling slightly. "God, you really don't understand anything I'm trying to tell you right now…"

"I understand that you changed your focus in life. You went from wanting to create life to saving it. You gave up on trying to make it in the art world, because let's face it, they're called 'starving artists' for a reason. It's hard to get into that world and truly make a decent living. So you turned your attention to what truly matters; to what you care about more than art. Children." He was walking towards me as he spoke, his eyes like ice and face stern, unchanging.

"You keep art as a hobby so you have a way to channel your emotions over cases in a way that won't destroy you but you're still holding back." He frowned. "You're guarding yourself again."

"Of course I'm guarding myself, Sherlock!" I sat down on the couch and hid my face in my hands. "I have no one to do it for me."

I felt the couch shift as he sat beside me and without thinking I had attached myself to his chest, gripping his shirt as I sobbed. I couldn't hold it back any longer; knowing that someone had done to such a small child.

"He's just a boy, Sherlock! He's just a little kid…" I cried and didn't care that he didn't react. I just needed someone there. "Why would someone do that to him? He's so helpless…"

A hand rested on the top of my head and I continued to cry. It didn't caress my hair or try anything sweet but somehow having his hand just stay there was comfort enough.

"He's not helpless. Not anymore. I've observed you enough to know that you will fight for those you care for. You will do anything for them. Our assignment was to determine this child's origin and find the source of the blood but I can clearly see that it has changed."

"Sherlock… You hate kids." I sniffed as I pulled back and saw that I had stained his shirt with tears.

"That is true only in the way that I hate how active and unintelligible they are. They run about without ceasing and make terrible noises and messes, caring only about themselves." He frowned and reached out a hand, lifting my shirt just enough to see the dark pink of the scar on my stomach. "However, when someone is innocent and turned into a victim by those who have no business interfering with their lives, even I can change my own agenda for the time being."

That being said, I clutched his hand to my stomach and curled over, my head on his shoulder as I started crying again.


	6. Bonding

Chapter Six: Bonding

Isaac woke up before either of us. Sherlock had crashed in the chair opposite the couch after I had cried myself to sleep on him. He had been kind enough to give me the couch; either that or he was sick of me hogging it.

I only awoke when I felt a repetitive poke against my cheek. I grunted and opened my eyes slightly, my eyes focusing immediately on the extremely alert face of Isaac as he knelt beside the couch almost nose to nose.

"….Morning…" I said making him jump up and run off over to Sherlock. I sat up, rather curious as to what was going to happen. My curiosity was not disappointed.

Isaac ran over to Sherlock who was slouched over, his head propped up in his hand. His hair fell into his eyes slightly and I found myself admiring the view and pose. With his long slender body, it seemed more graceful than most others would have appeared. With one swift movement, Isaac swung a leg onto Sherlock's lap and climbed up, tilting his head to match.

Sherlock sat up straight in an instant, surprised awake and knocked Isaac off his lap. In one quick motion he had bent over and scooped the boy up out of reflex before his head hit the floor. Isaac was wide eyed, his body tensed and prepared for impact. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that. Next time you could get hurt."

I myself was in awe of the event I had just seen happen as Sherlock set Isaac down who ran off back to me. I ruffled his hair and rubbed my eyes, having forgotten to take out my contacts. Looks like today, I was back to glasses.

After dressing Isaac in yet another borrowed outfit, which was nice of my neighbor although I doubt she minded having already gushed over Isaac the first time I requested an outfit. Today I was determined to go shopping for him. I set him down at the table, grabbing a dictionary for him to sit on and made him a bowl of cereal. Sherlock raised a brow as I pulled out a box of Creature Crunchies.

"What?" I shrugged as I took a few of the marshmallows out of the box and ate them. "It's a good cereal. Don't judge me."

I could have sworn that for a moment I caught some amusement in his eyes.

I was still in yesterday's clothes so while Isaac ate I went to my room and changed. Given that my current job assignment didn't involve going into the office, I gladly pulled on a dress over skinny jeans. My make-up had run from crying so I quickly touched it up and put on my glasses before brushing my hair. I looked at myself, trying to decide what to do and finally put loose curls in my hair and pulling some of it back.

I walked out of my room to find cereal all over my kitchen table as Isaac had tried to give himself a second helping and dumped the whole box into his bowl. Sherlock appeared to just be observing as I sighed and went to clean up.

"Why didn't you help him?"

"I assumed that he could do it by now. It's a simple enough task." He shrugged and drank some coffee that he had made.

"He's four! The box is almost as big as he is." I went and grabbed a larger bowl and started pushing the cereal off the table into it then back into the box. "When there's that great of a size difference, anyone would have trouble."

"You wanted me to learn about children, so for the time being I'm observing." He took a sip of his coffee. "I told you before that children are not my strong suit and I don't have any plans to change that fact. I was ordered to help find out who this boy is. That is all."

After what he had said last night about hating those who harm the innocent I felt a wave of anger wash over me. He was back to his old selfish self and truly had no interest in learning how to understand children. All he wanted was to find where the blood had come from and if that led to discovering who hurt Isaac, then fine. He just wanted to be rid of the child.

"If that's how you feel then fine. Today you can go research whatever it is you need to do. I on the other hand am going to go and actually care about what happens to this little boy." Isaac hopped down when I headed for the door and grabbed my bag. "Have a good day, Sherlock. See you later."

I held Isaac's hand throughout the day, buying him shirts and pants (or "trousers" as it were), and then stopping by a toy store to find him some things to keep him entertained. I let him chose one toy that he felt like he HAD to have, which was ironically a police car, and then grabbed some alphabet blocks and hot wheels. I was tempted to get him a coloring book but then decided against it. I had never liked them and figured that he'd rather make his own pictures.

After shopping I stopped for ice cream, letting him chose his favorite flavor. He stood on his tip toes to look into the display and point at his desired choice; strawberry. I got simple chocolate and started walking home, looking down now and then at the little boy alongside me. Isaac licked away at him cone, ice cream dripping down his hands and face.

He stopped and looked up at me, smiling with his pink smeared mouth and I had to smile back. I set down the bags and my cup of ice cream in order to clean his face, kneeling in front of him. His face scrunched up as I wiped his cheeks and I just shook my head.

"You're a messy little guy, aren't you? That's okay. I'm used to it. I'm not the neatest person either." I rubbed his chin and smiled. "There. All clean." He smiled and I ruffled his hair, making him push my hand away playfully. "So, what would you like to do now?"

His smile faded slightly as he refused to answer and I sighed. "That's fine. I'm sure we'll think of something. Hm… Do you want to go home and watch a movie? Or we could go to the park. Or if you want, we could even go check up on Sherlock and see if he's found anything yet."

I was surprised when he nodded and held up three fingers for the last option. He wanted Sherlock. He probably sensed Sherlock's hostility but he still wanted to be with him. Something about that made me like this kid even more if it were possible.

"Knock, knock." I said as I opened the door, finding Sherlock lying on his back in the couch, eyes closed and fingers to his chin. "What are you doing?"

"Thinking."

"Okay… Looked like you were napping."

"I'm waiting for the nicotine to kick in." He said simply as he kept his eyes shut. "It helps me think."

"Nicotine?" I almost choked.

He rolled up his sleeve revealing several patches slapped to his forearm. "It's a three patch problem."

"But why Nicotine of all things?" I set the bags down as Isaac walked in and climbed into the chair across from Sherlock, sitting on top of a Union Jack design pillow. "You of all people should know that it's extremely addictive."

"That may be but it's very useful to one with a mind such as mine." He sat up and pointed a finger to his temple. "Nicotine gives me increased release of acetylcholine leading to heightened activity in cholinergic pathways throughout my brain. Through these pathways, nicotine improves my reaction time and my ability to pay attention. Nicotine also causes a release of glutamate, a neurotransmitter involved in learning and memory. Glutamate enhances the connections between sets of neurons. These stronger connections may be the physical basis of what we know as memory." He jumped up and sighed triumphantly. "Looks like it's working."

I stared at him for a moment and then rubbed my neck, closing my eyes tight. "Okay… um… What the HELL did you just say?"

He didn't answer as he merely scoffed at my lack of understanding, rolling his eyes as he folded his sleeve back down. He walked over to the bags I had set down and picked up a box filled with alphabet blocks. He looked rather puzzled as he held one up. "What the devil are these for?"

"They're alphabet blocks." I knelt down and picked up the second box I had bought for when I was teaching Isaac words with repeated letters. "You can spell with them."

"I thought children were supposed to build with blocks. Not spell."

"You build words. And when you're done spelling you can build towers and such. They're just blocks." I shrugged. Admittedly, when I was younger all I had done was see how tall of a tower I could make before it fell over.

He opened a box and started taking them out, looking around for specific letters. Isaac slid off the chair and came to watch, curious.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he started lining up more than six letters for the first word.

"You're idea is actually fairly clever. I'm going to try and expand his extremely limited vocabulary." When he went to reach for a third "O" letter block I snatched it from his hand.

"Hemochromatosis? Why don't we just stick to the basics for now?" I handed Isaac the block and he held it, watching the two of us with interest.

"Dull." Sherlock muttered as he dropped the last two blocks and stood up.

"That's perfect! D-U-L-L." I started lining up the blocks and could feel the look of annoyance on Sherlock's face.

"You're patronizing me right now, aren't you?"

I looked over my shoulder at him and grinned. "Yeah… Just a bit."

Sherlock turned and went back to the couch to think, staring at the two of us playing on the floor as he did so. He was frustrated with me, which was just fine since he had irritated me earlier this morning as well.

"C-A-T. That's right." I smiled as I stacked the blocks up once he had successfully spelt a word. "Next is dog." He picked up different blocks as he squatted next to me, examining every one carefully.

"Why don't you actually teach him something important?" Sherlock grumbled as he looked over his hands, which were resting under his nose, finger intertwined. "Like how to talk? Until evidence releases the boy's clothes, I have nothing to go on. At this point, even a child's ramblings would be helpful."

"He knows how to talk." I said, not gibing into him prodding. Isaac handed me a block and I stacked it on top of the pile he had started. "He's a very clever little boy. His problem isn't that he doesn't know; it's that I think he's afraid. Think about it, Sherlock. What if someone hurt you?"

"They wouldn't. I wouldn't allow them the opportunity."

"I mean, if you were in his place. What if you were just a little kid and an adult hurt you? There's not much you could do about it, now is there?" Isaac picked up another block, stacking them on his own now.

"Children are fragile. They break easily. Adults should know this." Sherlock said as he stood up again, walking over and hovering over us as Isaac put two more blocks on his tower.

"And yet some still do." I said quietly as a little hand reached up, clutching a block and offering it to Sherlock. He stared at it for a moment and then took it as I was also handed a block. Isaac put one more block on then looked at the two of us, pointing to his hard work.

I looked at the block in my hand for a moment, tracing the blue "S" that was painted onto the surface. The wood was smooth under my thumb as I carefully up it on the pile Isaac had patiently made. The large blue eyes expectantly looked up at Sherlock, waiting.

"No human is perfect. There will always be darkness in every heart." Sherlock said, looking at me as tossed his block and then caught it before bending over and setting his block with a bright orange "Z" on the very top of the tower.

"I know." I leaned over and pushed the corner of his cube slightly, straightening it. "But someone has to show them that even in that darkness, there's always going to be someone carrying a little light."


	7. Clues

Chapter Seven: Clues

I continued to entertain Isaac while Sherlock thought. The little boy rolled his police car back and forth along the floor as he crawled around. I was now standing and he was using my legs as a tunnel. Sherlock rubbed his temples and looked at me.

"You! Why do you insist on letting him do that? It's of no educational value what so ever and there are more important things he could be doing."

I put my hands on my hips and frowned. "And what exactly would that be?"

"How about providing me with valid information on the case? If this kid saw everything that happened then he should be able to solve it in no time!"

"I thought you liked games, Sherlock? You finally have something you want, a challenge."

"But I also have to help babysit some gormless infant and deal with his doting handler!" He raised his voice and pointed at Isaac and then at me, causing my blood to boil. "This would go a lot faster if you didn't coddle him over every little thing and made him talk!"

"And he'd be a lot more cooperative if you'd stop thinking scientifically for a change and started thinking logically! He likely saw people die! He was covered in blood! That's enough to scare anyone into silence!"

"What would you do if you were in his place?" He snapped, gesturing his hand at me. "What you have done?"

"I can't say for sure because I don't know everything this boy has gone through! There are many factors that lead to different results. Sometimes it's the temperament of the kid, sometimes it's the way they were raised. Not all kids are the same."

Sherlock knelt down suddenly, grabbing Isaac by the shoulders. "I know you can make sound. You cried out loud in the tub the other night. I know you can talk."

Isaac's eyes went wide and his face suddenly drained of all color. His body went rigid under Sherlock's grip and I could tell he was scared. His breathing quickened and he pulled back slightly.

I stepped forward in an instant, grabbing Isaac away and smacking Sherlock upside the head. He's lucky I didn't use Isaac's car that was lying at my feet. "What the hell do you think you're doing, you ass!" Isaac's arms instinctively locked around my neck, holding on tighter than was needed. He was terrified. "What did you hope to achieve by acting like that?"

Sherlock put a hand on his head where it had made contact momentarily before standing up and looking at me, his eyes like ice. "First off: it's 'arse' not 'ass'. An ass is a mammal, otherwise known a donkey that is commonly associated with stubbornness. Secondly: he has achieved exactly what I was hoping he would." He put his hands in his pockets as he spoke, acting smug as he did so.

"Notice I didn't yell at him; I had yelled at you but not him. That got his attention and first put him under distress. I watched his body freeze when he heard me shout. Second, I didn't grab him roughly or put an excessive amount of pressure on him, it was the initial grab that put him in a panic. I didn't shake him or try anything violent yet his body reacted, preparing itself for what it's been so used to receiving."

He looked at Isaac and reached out, lifting his shirt to reveal one of the ugly bruises still on him. "He reacted because his father abused him. Probably abused his mother as well." He looked up at me as he spoke. "He didn't resist to the grab like most children. He didn't fight back. He knew that if he did, his actions would have consequences. He froze up not only to save himself some pain, but also his mother. He was reacting in a way that would spare you both."

"And how did you come up with that solution?" I said as I held Isaac with one arm and cradled his head protectively with the other.

"The fist was left by a man, a rather large one at that, I'm saying a little over two hundred pounds and around six feet tall. He's right handed and I say father because if you notice, there's an imprint of a ring on the bruise left by his left hand. A married man who knows his mother well enough to do something like this to her child without her taking action. Most mothers however, would attempt to rescue their child. The fact that he has bruises from varying times indicates a long period of abuse. This means the mother either didn't care, which is unlikely with how well taken care of he is and how he doesn't shy away from you- only men, or… that she was unable to save him. My guess is that his father would make a move for him and the mother would intervene."

"You're saying that she protected him." I mumbled as I stroked Isaac's hair, feeling him relax. "He was the target but she would step in. He wouldn't fight back to make his aggressor less violent, even just a little, in order to take some rage away from the attacks which were then aimed at his mother…"

"A pointless effort so save the other from the hateful blows." Sherlock said as he walked past us to the chair where his jacket was draped over the back. "If Mycroft's politician is involved, this should result in a very intriguing conclusion. I'm leaving to see if Anderson and the rest of those ignorant blood analysts have found anything. Are you coming?"

"Why would you risk this boy's feelings like that? Just to prove some stupid point?" I felt like crying again. If Sherlock's assumption was correct, this boy has been through far more than I had first guessed.

Sherlock looked at us, his eyes a little softer but face still stern. "He's not as fragile as you think. He's a strong little boy."

I looked at Sherlock, frustrated with the way he had carelessly turned Isaac's feelings into one of his experiments; but he had done it with somewhat good intentions. He wanted to prove that the boy had a hidden power in him that most people don't realize.

I don't know how, but Sherlock had managed to find it when I had looked it over.

We walked into Scotland Yard and Sherlock made a beeline for Lestrade's office. I headed over to my desk and set Isaac on my chair, which he promptly started spinning around in. I smiled and handed him some highlighters and assorted colored pens that I had lying about in my drawers, getting out some paper for him to scribble on.

Donovan hadn't been very happy when they had hired me, due to what had happened the last time we had an encounter. She'd warmed up to me over time, but it still bugged me when she talked bad about Sherlock.

"Oh, great… Freak's here." She said as she hung up her phone, watching Sherlock walk across the station.

"He's not a freak. He's just different." I muttered as I sat on the edge of my desk, crossing my arms. "He has a mind that overworks and so he's always looking at things from a highly educated point of view. Granted, he has no tact when he does so, but he's still the good guy. He's on our side."

"You do know what happens when he gets bored don't you? One day we'll show up to a crime scene, and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who made it."

I couldn't help but smirk when she said that. "That may be, but with everything he knows, you really don't think he couldn't make it look like someone else did it? That he could easily get away with it and fool you lot into believing he's innocent?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you always defending that creep? He's not normal."

"Maybe because unlike SOME people, I actually took the time to try and know him. I've learned how he thinks and what to expect from him. That doesn't mean I agree with everything he does, but I'm not one to judge him when I have my own flaws. Who decides what's normal? For all you know, in his world, you could be the anomaly."

"So what would that make you?" She crossed her arms as I slid off the desk and looked at Isaac's picture.

"Whatever his mind makes me out to be." I replied. Isaac had drawn what I guessed was him with Arthur. At four years old, there's a lot of guessing involved when it comes to the content of their drawings.

Sherlock later disclosed that DNA confirmed that the Politian, whose name was Martin Gatiss, was indeed connected to Isaac. They found his blood on the tiny shirt and also a second unidentified sample of DNA. They were presently hoping that the blood belonged to the assailant but Sherlock thought different.

"Why would the killer harm Martin Gatiss but not the only witness? Kids have a tendency to blab about everything they see so that should have made Isaac more of a threat." Sherlock muttered, obviously upset about having his theory ignored by Anderson and others. "The only possible explanation for the kid's escape is that someone else was there with the attacker and Gatiss!"

"How do you know he was killed and not just injured?" I asked. Granted there had been a lot of blood, but if it was from two or more people…

"On the upper left sleeve of his shirt the direction and spray pattern signaled that an artery had been cut. Now, if it had been a very violet attack, which I'm assuming it was, that would prove fatal when left unattended, and even with help you'd need immediate medical attention. It would only take minutes to bleed out and with the victim in a panic, the heart beats faster; causing a faster loss of blood."

"So what does that mean?" I asked as we walked out of the police station, Isaac in tow clinging to his masterpiece.

"It means we have some bodies to find."


	8. Family Matters

Chapter Eight: Family Matters

For the next week, Sherlock studied the clothes that had finally been released from evidence, scanning for any trace of dirt or grass for clues. He had informed Lestrade of his assumptions and findings in order to try and solve the case as soon as possible. I could only assume Mycroft was hounding him about the Politian and was getting tired of me making him help with Isaac.

Isaac had slowly begun to grow comfortable the two men living in Baker Street, although he still hadn't uttered a sound unless he was upset. He had been sharing a bed with me, which I didn't mind. He was small and didn't move a lot and Arthur was finally leaving my feet alone. Part of it was to make him feel comfortable and safe, another was because if I wasn't in the bed with him, he'd come find me in the middle of the night crying from nightmares.

Once he fell asleep, I snuck out of my bed and into the living room. I was always careful to leave the door open so he could find me if he woke up. I propped up my canvas that was in the corner and took out my paints. It had been a good couple of months since I had done anything truly artistic. A doodle on my paperwork here and there, but other than that, I had been neglecting my paints.

I pulled up a chair and stared at the black cloth for a moment, trying to decide what to create. I knew I really should be getting some sleep before I had to go to the station and check in with them. But seeing as how watching Isaac until the case was solved was my current mission, Im sure they wouldn't mind if I slept in.

I sat there for a while, doing nothing but stare until I stood up and turned on my ipod. The Beatles played softly as I sat back down and closed my eyes. I started to hum along and move my brush slowly in time to the music, but never touched the canvas. After a few hours of just music and no art, I decided to head to bed.

I turned around after I had packed everything up and saw Isaac standing in the doorway. I had ended up singing along and hoped in that moment that I hadn't been belting it out at the top of my lungs.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you with my singing?" He shook his head and I held out my arms, having him walk into them. I held him and rubbed his back. "Did you have a bad dream?" He nodded and I smiled, twirling one of his curls softly. "It's okay. I'm here now. I won't let anything hurt you. Not even a bad dream."

I picked him up and rocked him slowly, starting to hum as he laid his head on my shoulder. One of the songs I had listened to came to find and I couldn't help but sing it. It always made me feel better.

"Here comes the sun…" I realized after a while that I heard a small buzzing and was surprised to find out that as Isaac closed his eyes and rested his head on my shoulder, he was humming along with me. "It's all right now…"

I was awoken to a knocking on the door. It sounded louder than what I was used to, only because I was sleeping on the couch instead of my bedroom. Isaac was curled up beside me and I carefully slid my arm out from under him and sat up, heading for the door.

I combed my fingers through my hair quickly before I opened the door, squinting slightly since I wasn't wearing my glasses or contacts. "John?"

He was standing straight and formal as always, looking apologetic. "Did I wake you?"

"What? Yeah, but it's fine… I needed to get up anyway. What are you doing here?"

He looked past me at Isaac who had rolled over and curled into a smaller ball than he had been. "The police got a call this morning. They found some bodies in a building downtown."

I blinked, now fully awake with that information. "Do they know who it is?"

"One body was identified as Martin Gatiss. Another they suspect is his wife… The other is a still unidentified woman. Sherlock is there now checking out the scene." He looked uncomfortable and I reached out, taking his arm.

"Come in and I'll make you some coffee." I knew he was hiding information and with my job, it wasn't hard to guess. "How long had they been there?"

He looked back at Isaac before he answered. "A while."

I made his drink and sat across from him, making one for myself. "What happened? Can anyone tell that much?"

He grimaced. "I'll tell you that I don't blame that kid for staying quiet. What happened in that room… No one should ever have to see that. Even the after effects mad me queasy. Putting myself in that kid's shoes…"

"You'll go crazy if you try to understand why people do what they do, John. I now understand everything my dad told me growing up. People, by nature, are evil. What degree they allow themselves to reach is entirely up to them. It's the people who are aware of their evil and suppress it that need to take a stand against them and harness the good inside." I held my warm cup in both hands, the heat relaxing on my palms.

John nodded and looked over suddenly as a small hand touched his leg. "Good morning." He smiled and reached down, picking Isaac up and setting him on his lap as I got up to make him breakfast. "Still no luck on finding family?"

"Lestrade and everyone else have been looking but with no name and no missing persons report fitting his description…" I sighed and leaned against the counter as the toaster did its job. "How can someone not care that their child is missing?"

"That's one of those questions I think that you'd better avoid. It's one of the ones that will drive you crazy." He smiled at Isaac who was humming to himself as he watched me butter his toast. "Is he… Is that the Beatles?"

"Yeah. He had a bad dream so I sang it to him last night. He was humming then too. It's not much but it's improvement." I put his plate and a cup of juice in front of him and smiled. "It means that he's starting to live normally again. That he isn't blocking everything out completely."

"That's true. And he seems to have warmed up to me quite a bit."

"Judging from how we found him, I'd say you and Sherlock are the closest things he's had to a real father in a long time…. Mainly you."

John chuckled and shook his head. "Sherlock as a dad would be quite the sight. Granted, he's been tolerating Isaac when you bring him over better than he first did. When you drop him off so you can fill out reports, he's been teaching him things to keep him busy."

"Nothing too dangerous I hope." I sighed as I braided my hair over my shoulder.

"I've caught him about to do stuff with acid but I quickly put an end to that and made him settle for baking soda and vinegar." He swiped his thumb across Isaac's cheek quickly to rid it of the jam sticking to it. "That's one of the first times I've heard that kid laugh. He thought the foam was a riot."

"Really? Well that's good that he laughed." I smiled and ruffled the unruly locks.

"Sherlock was quite perplexed. Here he is, trying to scientifically explain what's happening to cause that sort of reaction, and all Isaac wants is for him to do it again and giggling up a storm." Isaac squirmed and slid off his lap, running off.

"Hey, do you work today?" I picked up the remnants of Isaac's food and headed for the sink.

"No, not today. Why?"

"I would like to meet up with Sherlock and check out the site for myself." I was a tad uneasy about what to expect but I felt like it had to be done in order to know how bad Isaac had been traumatized. "I just need you to keep an eye on him for a little while. Is that okay? If you have other plans…"

"No, it's fine. I didn't have anything planned and I wouldn't mind at all." John stood up and followed me into the living room as Isaac walked in with his head shoved into the sleeve of a shirt and his arms out the collar. I shook my head and John knelt down to fix it.

As John kept Isaac preoccupied, I went into my room to change. I wasn't in a mood to try and look nice and professional at a crime scene so I reached into my drawers and pulled out a pair of jeans and one of my older t-shirts. By this time I had found my glasses, since they were faster and less of a hassle than contacts and put them on before heading out.

I stopped at the couch, where John was reading a story to Isaac and kissed the top of his curled head. "I'll be back, Isaac. John will keep you safe." He smiled up at me and nodded, hugging me before I left.

I walked under the blue tape into the room. It was fairly empty aside from several specialists and Sherlock. I had grabbed some mentholatum from one of the investigators outside the room and rubbed it under my nose to block out most of the smell. The bodies had been removed long ago but from the lingering scent, it wasn't hard to find out why many cops were avoiding entering.

The smell wasn't all that they were avoiding and deep down inside I regretted coming in. It was like something straight out of a slasher film. There was literally blood everywhere. Cast off on the ceiling and wall, as well as arterial spray and the pools where the bodies were left. As I looked around, I wondered where Isaac had been through all of this. He had been covered in their blood and I suddenly felt sick, staggering back into Anderson.

"At a sight like this, I don't blame you." He scoffed slightly as he pushed me back up. Since I joined the force he had warmed up to me a little more, although he still didn't forgive me for the black eye I had inflicted. "It's a wonder that kid you're watching got out alive… or still sane."

Sherlock looked over as he saw my movement out of the corner of his eyes and when he saw me I saw a slight smile cross his lips. "Zoey, Good to have you back. Gad to see babysitting is doing you good."

I wasn't sure what he meant but I managed to walk over to where he was. "What happened…?"

"A slaughter. What does it look like?"

"It looks…" I looked up at the ceiling and around the room once more. "Angry. Very angry…"

"Very good. You're learning. At least you didn't say 'bloody', 'messy', or 'red' like the rest of this lot. What makes it angry?"

"It's chaotic. Three victims and I'm guessing one aggressor? If that was the case then he would have had to move fast and be very upset. He probably went for Gatiss first… And the two women?"

"One was Mrs. Gatiss. The third victim is still unknown, but I suspect her to the boy's mother."

"What?" I choked on the word as I tried to take in what he had just said. "How do you…?"

Her eyes, although partially ruined from decomposition, were once the same shape as the boy's. They also had the same jaw structure as well as pinna."

"He has her eyes…"

"And ears. Now, do keep up and pay attention." He stood up and spun around as he investigated the floor. "So the mother most likely came last, meaning that Mrs. Gatiss was the second victim and the boy's father was the first."

"Take out the biggest threat first and HOLD ON! WHOA! Did you say his FATHER?" The others in the room stopped and looked at the two of us, also in shock from his deduction.

Sherlock sighed and I could see his frustration. "You're all so clueless and unobservant. Is it nice being so naïve? Just wandering through life without a care in the world?"

"Sherlock! What on earth do you mean that he's the father?"

"Isaac's nose has a similar angle to that of Gatiss."He pointed to his own nose and continued. "The hair type was different from that of his mother, straight and auburn. Mr. Gatiss on the other hand, has dark curls and from pictures I've seen, he also had a striking shade of pale blue eyes; identical to that of the boy. If the lab would be kind enough to run a DNA analysis, I'm sure their findings would be the same: Martin Gatiss is Isaac's father."

I was stunned, trying to place the facts. "But, then why was Mrs. Gatiss here? The wife and mistress in the same place never ends well. But we also know that the wife didn't kill the mistress and the mistress didn't kill the wife. So what does that leave us?"

"The husband."

"What?" I was once again lost with the sudden twists and turns this case had taken.

"Martin Gatiss' mistress was married. I'm guessing that the killer was her husband. That would explain why Isaac was beaten so. The man knew the boy was not his and hated his wife for cheating, in turn, hating the boy for constantly reminding him of her infidelity."

"So we just need to find her husband. But that brings us another problem, we have no idea who she is. Or why Gatiss wife was there with them."

"I have a plan in order to flush him out. However, in order to bring my plan into fruition, I need you to answer one simple question for me, Zoey."

"What is that?"

His question caused Anderson to drop the evidence he had collected as well as bring stunned silence from the others within earshot.

"Will you be my wife?"


	9. The Best Laid Plans

Chapter Nine: The Best Laid Plans

I was stunned by his sudden proposal, which he asked with a dead serious face and no change in expression. I found that, try as I might; I couldn't find an answer or my voice to reply. After the initial shock from Sherlock's question, he explained his plan to me out of hearing range from the others.

"If the boy's father knows that he is still alive, then he'll likely want to find him in order to shut him up." He leaned against the wall, looking off down the hallway, eyes distant.

"But what does that have to do with—"

"If he thinks that his son has been adopted into a caring family, he'll believe that the boy will open up to them and tell them everything. That makes him a risk after what he's done. He'll want to find that boy and that family to shut them up."

"I think I understand." I felt my heart rate return to normal, although a small part of me deep down was somehow disappointed. "You want us to go undercover in a way, posing as a married couple and Isaac's adoptive parents in order to weed the culprit out."

"Obviously. What else could I have meant?" His bluntness and also his ignorance made me bite my tongue from replying.

"Nothing… Just… couldn't you have just said 'Let's go undercover' instead of popping the question in that sort of situation? If you want to be convincing.. I would have preferred a less… morbid… setting."

"Popping the question and asking you to be my wife are two entirely different matters." He looked at me, completely serious yet again. I don't think he understood just how similar they were; but looking back, he had said 'be my wife' and not 'will you marry me'. "The main goal is to bring out the killer and put an end to this case."

"Fine. But I'm going to be your wife for the time being, we have to make this convincing." Lestrade and Mycroft had ordered him to watch Isaac, and now I was going to make sure he fulfilled his duties. "You have to move in with me until it's over."

"Nonsense. Baker Street is suitable."

"For you and John, but there's no room for two more and with all your experiments lying about it's certainly no place for a child. Not to mention, my home is much more family friendly if we're going to fake a domestic life together."

He seemed offended and slightly fearful of his own plan now that I was making demands. I took in his strange change of face for a moment before I kissed his cheek. "I'm just getting into the role, 'Sweety'."

He cringed slightly when I added the sugar coated pet name and I smirked. I could have fun with this.

However, by the next day I wasn't having as much fun.

"Oh, my god…"

I discovered that there were no words to describe what Mycroft had given us once he heard of our "domestic attachment". He had dropped by and handed me a small box, saying it would make the whole thing more convincing. Staring into the box, I highly doubted that.

The ring he had given me looked like costume jewelry from a child's toy box. The stone was impossibly large and sparkled like it had been rolled in glitter.

"My god, that's one gaudy ring." Sherlock said quickly once he laid eyes on it.

"Come now, brother. You obviously know nothing of women. The bigger the stone, the more they will love you."

I almost wanted to say that he knew nothing about me, seeing as how it was not only one of the ugliest rings I had ever laid eyes on, but with my occupation and hobbies such a ring would only get in the way.

"Mycroft, you shouldn't have…"

"But of course, only the best for my sister-in-law." He grinned at me, leaning on his umbrella.

"Really. You REALLY shouldn't have…" I had put the ring on my hand and found myself unable to look away. It was like a car crash: so horrific yet so hypnotizing.

"She is not your sister-in-law." Sherlock growled, plucking at his violin strings. "It's merely a temporary role in an undercover scheme in order to draw—"

Mycroft was ignoring him to pay attention to his "nephew". He smiled down at the boy and put a hand on his head. "The resemblance is quite striking, actually. If it weren't for the more obvious bone structure and shape of the facial features, I'd say he looked just like you at his age."

Sherlock let go of a string, causing it to release a rather loud and annoying vibration. "He looks nothing like me. Shouldn't you be off causing or preventing a war somewhere?"

"I can take an hour or two off to spend time with family. Unlike some people." Mycroft scoffed as he glanced back as Sherlock before squatting and looking at Isaac. "I'm rather enjoying my role as Uncle at present."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock sat up more in his seat, nearly dropping his violin. "Uncle?"

"Rather makes me feel nostalgic, don't you think? Almost like looking back at old photographs. If it weren't for the more obvious features such as bone structure or the shape of his facial features, he looks just like you did at that age."

"He's not mine!" Sherlock shot back defensively. "You should know this, you ordered for me to watch him…"

"Quite right, I'd say he looks more like his mother." Mycroft's eyes darted over to me, smiling in a rather sly fashion.

"Just what are you insinuating?" I asked, feeling like I was under the microscope with Mycroft. After our last true encounter, he found out more about me than I had wanted and I knew that he remembered.

"I wonder what Mummy will think if she finds out about you becoming a father, albeit in an adoptive sense. I do believe she figured I would be the one most likely to settle down first."

"Stop. Talking. Mycroft." Sherlock Plucked another string angrily. "You are not helping the situation and your input was neither desired nor needed."

I wanted so badly to crawl into a hole and hide. Mycroft was toying with me and Sherlock and it was almost too much to handle. I was relieved when John came home at that moment, looking slightly puzzled when he saw the two brothers fighting and me with a box in my lap and a ring on my finger. I could tell by his eyes that the ring astounded him as well.

"What brings you here, Mycroft?"

"Hello, John. I just thought I'd pop in for a visit and check in on the happy couple."

John shot me a confused expression and I just covered my face and shook my head. Sherlock was growing tired of all the comments even though it had all been his idea. "I'm in the middle of a case that YOU assigned to me, in case you've forgotten. And you don't see me deciding to just 'pop' in for a visit at your work!"

"My dear brother, you wouldn't be able to find it even if you tried your hardest." He shook his head with a smug smile on his face before turning to John. "Does this make you the godfather then?"

"What? Godfather?" John was growing more confused with each passing moment and if I hadn't been growing just as embarrassed as he was confused, I would have found it humorous.

"Of Sherlock's child."

"He's NOT my—" Sherlock gripped his instrument, unmoving as he sat frozen, probably in fear of breaking it over his brother's head.

"Come now, Sherlock, can't an older brother tease his younger?"

"Not about this!" Sherlock's cheeks flushed slightly, whether it was from anger or embarrassment I couldn't tell. "Contribute something to my case or leave our flat at once!"

"OUR flat you say? That does have a rather nice ring to it. I can see you're already comfortable living with her."

John turned his attention to me as I tried to tune the two bickering children out. Isaac merely crawled around on the floor with his police car, oblivious to anything outside of his imaginary world at the moment.

"Do their conversations always end like this?" I groaned and dared to look up at him, hoping for a break from the Holmes' insanity.

"Bickering like two jealous sisters? Yeah, that's about the gist of it. You should have seen them the first time I figured out they were brothers."

"How did that go?"

"Well, Sherlock told him not to cause a war because it ruins traffic."

"That bad, huh?" I managed a half smile and watched Isaac crawl around.

"As much as they hate to admit it, they are brothers and quite a lot alike. Both brilliant minds, brilliant observers, and fans of the dramatic." John sighed and rubbed his neck.

"Mycroft dramatic? I know he can be a bit long-winded…"

"When we first met, he followed me all across London with CCTV cameras, called me through phone booths, and then basically kidnapped me and brought me to a nondescript parking garage just to see how I was faring with Sherlock."

I was quiet for a moment, looking over at the two brothers once more. "Okay… now THAT'S dramatic. And also rather creepy stalker. Do remind me that is Sherlock and I ever have a falling out, not to let Mycroft know."

"He'd probably find out within the hour." John shrugged.

"Again. Creepy stalker."

"No, just protective, Miss McCarron." Mycroft smiled, not looking over at me as he did so.

"OVERprotective you out of our flat! I'll call the police!" Sherlock stood up, rather annoyed beyond reason at this point. Mycroft merely smirked, about to ensue yet another battle of words.

"And what good would that do you? You're always saying they're out of their depth." I almost wanted to remind both of them that I was police but thought better of it.

"FINE. I'll call Mummy, then!" The two of them really were sounding like children, but as long as no violence occurred and they kept me out of it, I found the whole thing rather entertaining at this point.

"Oh, would you? She's grown rather worried about you that you don't call often enough." I could see the familiar victorious smirk that the sibling who wins always gets. I had seen it enough with Ana and Danni.

"Mrs. HUDSON!" Sherlock would have stamped his foot if he had truly wanted to. I half expected it.

A small woman exiting her middle aged years came up the stairs and into the flat, looking rather worried. "Whatever is the matter? I kept hearing shouting."

"Please show my brother to the door." Sherlock nearly panted with frustration. However, I could see that they weren't the type to come to blows easily. They preferred a battle of wits.

"No need, Madame, I get the hint." Mycroft practically swaggered over to the door and turned to Sherlock before he left. "Text me if anything comes up, then I won't have to do this again."

"I won't hold my breath." Sherlock grumbled as Mrs. Hudson closed the door behind him.

"I'm almost hoping nothing actually happens between us. Some weird CIA spook for an uncle? The school bullies would just… disappear."

"MI6, Zoey." Sherlock sat back down and rubbed his temples, sighing. "CIA is exclusive to America."

"Whatever."

(my thanks to pkmndaisuki for assisting me with a majority of the dialog this chapter. You were a great help )


	10. Family Outing

Chapter Ten: Family Outing

Sherlock relocated several of his belongings early the next morning, most of it being science testing equipment and books. He was further frustrated with my boundaries when it came to where to put his things. I had to draw the line when he attempted to convert my entire kitchen into a lab, compromising with him for half.

Isaac followed Sherlock around the apartment for quite some time, investigating the change with curiosity. As I observed the two of them, I really was amazed at how alike they seemed. Try as he may to deny it, Isaac, to those who weren't as observant, did look like a mini-Sherlock.

He had the same dark loose curls, pale eyes, although Isaac's were closer to mine in color, and he was surprisingly perceptive for his age. However, where they were most notably different was in their maturity. Isaac beat Sherlock hands down.

Sherlock sat down on the couch finally after moving around several items of mine. He hadn't been keen on moving in with me but since it was his idea to play house, I made him compromise. I'd go through with his scheme, but he had to play the part as realistic as possible when we were in public. I couldn't wait to see the results of our deal.

Isaac was standing by the door holding his little football, which I had quickly learned my first year in England was NOT called a soccer ball. "I think I'll take him to the park. Would you like to come, Dear?"

Sherlock looked over at Isaac, holding his toy and looking almost pleadingly at Sherlock. I could tell he wanted him to play with him. Sherlock sighed and stood up. "I have errands to run while you're out anyway. I see no harm in tagging along, even if it's just to complete the illusion."

"This whole thing was your idea so don't sound so reluctant." I scoffed as I held the door open for the two of them and then locked it behind us.

I leaned against one of the trees in the park as I watched Isaac climb on the playground. His football rested beside me as I observed him. It made me smile seeing him light up and acting like a normal kid again. I hadn't seen him talk to anyone yet, but other kids had spoken to him and he was running after them, laughing. Sherlock had walked us here and then left to run his errands, telling me he'd return within the hour.

A woman sitting on a park bench caught my eye and I grinned, picking up Isaac's ball as I walked over to her. Her hair had gotten a bit longer since I had last seen her but she was still up to the same old things, her hand hard at work sketching.

"Boo."

She jumped, almost throwing her sketchpad and pencil into the air. "Ah! Wait a… Zoey? Hey! How are you? I haven't seen you in a donkey's… er… a long time."

"Hey, Sydney. Drawing strangers again I see." I grinned and sat beside her on the bench as she recovered herself.

"Of course. It's fun. It's like people watching with a purpose. Not enough artists do it. I often get my best works by doing this. What are you doing all out and about?"

"I'm just watching a kid I've been looking after." I turned to watch the children run around again. Isaac headed for the monkey bars, hanging from the first bar and swinging his legs.

Sydney followed my line of sight. "Ah, that toddler over there with the curls? Looks a bit like SH if you ask me." I smiled as she referred to Sherlock by his abbreviated name she had used so often when she had gotten involved in a case he was working at our college a few years back. Come to think of it, she met Sherlock before me and had warned me to be careful around him. I should have listened.

"Yeah, funny coincidence but it works. Sherlock disagrees though."

"I see. So, you starting a daycare, or does this have to do with your job? Didn't you write that you were working for the Yard?"

"Yeah, I've been given the role of temporary foster mom for him." I nodded and smiled as Isaac kicked in vain to try and swing himself to the next bar.

"How nice. I figured you'd end up doing something like that one day. Is he alright? I noticed he's rather quiet…"

"Yeah… We're trying to fix that. He laughs and such, but no words yet." I sighed and rolled his football around my lap absentmindedly. "There was an incident and he hasn't spoken since. He hasn't even told us his name. We've just been calling him Isaac. He doesn't seem to mind though…"

"Hm… Ever considered art therapy? I had to study up on it for a class. Might help him get over his silence, or help you understand what's in his head." She shrugged and looked over at me. "I know you have plenty of different mediums for him to use around your flat."

"Why didn't I think of that? Syd! You're a genius!" I turned around and hugged her tightly before pulling back and holding her shoulders. "You always did have all the answers to most of my problems."

Sydney pulled back further and grabbed my wrist, eyes wide. "Is that… a ring on your left hand? Since when are you married? Oh, my god, did you run off to that town in the States? The one with all the fruit machines called… Las Vegans?"

"No. I didn't… well… not really anyway…" I pulled back, glad I had switched Mycroft's ring for one of the plain silver bands I had lying about. "And it's Las VEGAS."

"Then what's with the ring? Are you married? To whom?" She paused and stared at me then at Isaac. "Wait… You're not married to who I think you are… Even if the kid isn't yours, you said it was a coincidence and Sherlock kept denying…"

"No. It's for the case. We have to pretend for Isaac…" I said quietly, looking around just in case.

"Oh! You just about gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry about that. But you know… I'm not really supposed to be discussing this…"

"With civilians. I got it." She smiled as she looked over my shoulder and smiled. "I won't say a word."

I turned to see what she was looking at and saw Sherlock walking towards us as Isaac ran behind him. He handed me a small box as he stopped beside us. Upon opening it I saw a small silver band with the face of a small diamond peeking out of the metal.

"There. A proper ring." Sherlock said flatly. "Far better than that god awful monstrosity that my brother gave you."

Sydney looked at me sighed. "So you really aren't married after all? Pooh."

"What?" Sherlock gave her a rather puzzled look.

"I told you before that we weren't…." I shook my head.

"Really, if you were actually married, you wouldn't be so curt. You'd actually switch the rings yourself. Not order her to." Sydney looked at me and smirked.

Sherlock looked at her then sighed, knowing he wasn't getting out of this one easily. "Ah, well, then… Here, Love. Let me see your hand…"

I looked at Sydney who was grinning as he switched the rings. "There, much better; and much more convincing. You two really do make such a splendid couple. Your son really sells the illusion."

"He is NOT my…" a prompt elbow to his ribs made him stop.

"Sherlock, this was all your idea and I would have thought you'd be more cooperative than this. I'm not too keen on the whole idea myself either, especially if word gets back home that I'm 'married' to you." I huffed and crossed my arms. He was acting like a child again.

"Your father didn't seem to object to the possibility of a relationship between us."

"He already has parental approval? Wow, they must really like him for some reason." Sydney said as she raised her eyebrows. "However di he achieve that?"

"Probably because her father approves of my work with the police and because I was there to save her brothers and her life." Sherlock looked down at me with a slight smirk, proud of his role in that little rescue in my apartment.

"Oh please…" I rolled my eyes and looked down at Isaac who was kicking his football around the park bench. I smiled and quickly kicked the ball off to the side slightly, surprising him but was rewarded with a smile. He kicked it back around the bench only to have me kick it away again.

"So, you and Sherlock are now officially a couple until relieved from your duties?" Sydney asked as she crossed her arms and flipped her hair from her eyes. "I know you've always been one to play a parent role well, but Sherlock's involvement has me a bit surprised."

"The sooner we conclude the case and end this charade the batter." Sherlock sighed. "I've stated on many occasions that I am married to my work."

I gave Sydney a look and smirked. "Yes, but, Sweety, you do need to make some time for your family. After all, Isaac won't be you're little man forever." I wrapped an arm around his waist and felt him tense. Sydney was trying not to laugh and just settled for grinning.

"I'm sure domestic life will suit you very well, Zoey." She looked up at Sherlock who had put his hand on my shoulder to keep the ruse going. "Oh, how I wish I had a camera…"

"I'll kill you." I looked at her and she just grinned wider.

"Well, I'd best be going. Projects to finish and such." She packed up her belongings and looked at the three of us, as Isaac had grown tired and wanted to now go home, holding Sherlock's fingers. "It was very nice to see you both again. And it was a pleasure meeting you, Isaac. I hope to see you again sometime." She turned and walked away, waving as she went. "Do be sure to send me an invite to the reception at the very least!"

"We're not…" I started but just sighed and ran my hand through my hair.

"I must say," Sherlock mused as he stood holding onto me and Isaac. "We're getting the most peculiar looks from those around us."

"It's approval and nostalgia, Sherlock. They think we're really a family." As I reached up to touch his hand on my shoulder, I felt my heart skip a beat as my finger grazed the cold band on his hand. He was wearing his ring as well.

"Intriguing. We shall have to go out in public more so I can observe further." I just shook my head and sighed. Leave it to Sherlock to transform an undercover mission into a social experiment.


	11. According to Plan

Chapter Eleven: According to Plan

I walked next to Sherlock, finding myself leaning into him for warmth as he kept his arm around me. He, no doubt, was observing every facial expression that crossed someone's face as we passed them. I looked around him and saw Isaac clinging to his fingers as his little legs moved to keep up.

"Slow down." I slowed, forcing Sherlock to do the same. "Isaac can't walk that fast. His legs are smaller."

"Of course they're smaller." Sherlock looked at me as if I had just stated the obvious; which I had.

"So either slow down, or carry him." I stopped and Sherlock sighed.

"He is old enough to do things on his own."

"Yes, but he's still just a little boy. You have to be patient. In comparison to your legs, he needs assistance." I took Isaac's ball from his hands and smiled as Sherlock wrapped an arm around him and picked him up effortlessly.

Isaac's body acted on instinct for an instant, his body freezing and his face full of fear for a split second. As soon as Sherlock's second arm wrapped around for extra support and held the boy close, the small body eased up and an arm draped over Sherlock's shoulder as he looked over at me.

I smiled and waved my fingers at him, making Isaac smile and rest his head on Sherlock's shoulder. He turned to look at the child when he felt the tiny face pressed against his neck. He appeared puzzled but also curious. He almost appeared to rest his cheek on the mess of curls caringly as he walked.

"Sherlock?"

"What?" He looked back at me as I followed a few steps behind.

I rolled the ring he had given me around my finger. "Thank you."

"For what? The ring? It was a necessary change in order to complete your disguise as a proper happily married mother."

"Who said we were happily married?" I asked, teasingly.

"Well, for starters you're married to me." When I didn't respond he frowned slightly. "I'm a healthy, fit, highly intelligent, handsome man with my own job. Why wouldn't you be happily married to me?"

"Because you're extremely egotistic, tend to be rash, blunt, rather cold and distant from others, have NO interest in kids what so ever…"

"I've taken interest in him."

"As an experiment, Sherlock. He's a child. Not some new toy to mess around with." I sighed and shook my head. "As of now, he is not a test subject. You are to play with him and teach him. You are to hold him and take care of him. Now it's time to stop messing around with him and start testing yourself."

He raised a brow. "And what is the test?"

"Can you function as a normal human being and put this child ahead of yourself?"

"I don't see how that will aid the case. If I drop everything just to placate this boy's every little whim. .."

"Sherlock, if you can get him to trust you, he'll open up. I've seen it around John. He's been smiling and laughing. We're making progress."

"That does no good if he doesn't tell us anything about what happened."

I rolled my eyes, giving up on this conversation for the moment as we walked back towards my flat in silence for quite some time.

"Zoey." Sherlock's voice was surprisingly quiet.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"I believe his mouth is leaking saliva onto the collar of my coat."

I stepped closer and tried not to laugh as I realized that Isaac had fallen asleep and was now drooling on Sherlock. "Must be nap time."

From Sherlock's face I could tell he wasn't very pleased by the fact that he had a slobbery coat and a sleeping child to carry. "This is why I hate children. They're troublesome, needy, and messy."

"It's just spit. It will wash out." I unlocked my flat door and watched Sherlock lay Isaac on my bed for a nap. I took off his tiny shoes and Arthur hopped onto the mattress and lay beside him as I brushed his hair from his face.

Sherlock walked out of the room and started examining assorted slides he had made in my kitchen. I hoped they all related to the current case, but knowing him, they could be pieces of food from my fridge. I hoped he had only taken samples out and had not put anything back in. Like a hand.

"Since he's asleep and you have work to do, I need to stop by the office and check up their progress on identifying Isaac's mother. Once we have that, we can identify her husband and hence, the killer as you so surely assume."

"I don't 'assume' anything. Its fact." Sherlock put down whatever it was he had been looking at that he had pulled from my microwave. I didn't have the courage to find out what it was exactly. "With all the rage and the personal aspect of the crime, it's obviously the missing husband."

"But why was Mrs. Gatiss there? We still have no idea why the wife tagged along to meet up with the mistress."

Sherlock went back to his science project and shrugged. "Confrontation of the ones cheating and their spouses?"

I sighed, not entirely pleased with that response even though it made sense. Something just wasn't fitting right.

"Whatever the case, I'm going to see where they are on information down at the Yard. If Isaac wakes up, there are chips in the cupboard and I have books for you to read him. If nothing else, pull out some of my art supplies and do crafts or pictures with him. Maybe you can get him to draw something pertaining to the case."

"You have chips in your cupboard?" He raised a brow.

"Yes. Cheesey chips. He likes them."

"Those are crisps. Not chips. Chips would be what you Americans call French fries." He gave me a strange sort of cocky amused smirk and I just shook my head and opened the door.

"Whatever. There are some cookies in there as well."

"Biscuits." Sherlock called out smugly as the door closed. I merely shook my head and headed for the station.

As I walked, I found myself fiddling with the ring now attached to my hand. It felt foreign there, yet somehow felt comfortable and normal. I tried to avoid wearing things on my hands or wrists, mainly because I always had to take it off due to fear of losing or ruining it during an artistic or job related activity.

My phone buzzed and I grabbed it, seeing a restricted number. It was probably a solicitor so I ignored it. After a few minutes it went off again. Same unknown number. I ignored it again. By the fifth time they called I finally answered, annoyed that they were so persistent.

"What is it? Stop calling me!"

"Ah, there you are." A familiar male voice cooed into the other side. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

I had to smirk and look around. "How could I forget? You left me an unforgettable gift last time we met."

There was a chuckle and I could almost picture him shaking his head. "A necessary sacrifice for the desired results, my dear. You don't really think I did such a thing on accident, did you?"

"I don't know. It's hard for me to follow your logic sometimes. Last time was no different." I saw a camera move and focus on me.

"Well it had to be done. How else was I going to get him to buy you a proper ring?" Mycroft chuckled as I stared into the camera. I was very tempted to give him a certain one fingered gesture to show my love for him at present. John was right; he was dramatic.

"You really are something." I smiled. "It's just a job. You should know better than anyone that the chances of anything actually happening are pretty much zero."

"Pretty much and actually are two different things entirely. True, he is rather stunted when it comes to relationships and feelings, but he's changed around you. John has noticed it as well." I wondered if he was spinning his umbrella like always. "He's been surprisingly more patient with both of us."

"That's probably due to our last few encounters. I keep getting after him and so I'm his main irritant. Compared to me, you two are easy."

"He does have a rather hard time around you. He has confided in me that much. He can't understand you. Your thinking isn't logical most of the time. It's emotional. He's expressed a desire to attempt that method, but finds it most aggravating."

"Heaven forbid he should actually feel anything for anyone besides himself." I rolled my eyes and started walking again. "Oh, you wanted updates on the Gatiss case."

"I already know that they found him and his wife, along with Isaac's mother, although she has yet to be named." He said in a rather bored tone.

"Sherlock thinks it was Isaac's real father who killed them. I'm on my way to see if the police have made any more progress." I stopped as a double-decker bus roared past me on the street. "I don't know how much longer Sherlock can tolerate playing the role of caring father. Even though the whole thing was his idea, he doesn't seem too keen about it."

"He'll adapt. He's good at doing that, even if he's only pretending." Mycroft sighed. "In any case, this whole scenario will make you happy being a family and being a mum. I'm sure I could arrange a way for you to be this way forever."

"I bet you could. But I'd rather have it happen naturally and not force anyone into it. And Stop watching me on those cameras!"

I heard him laugh as I neared the station. "Fine, I was just ensuring your safety."

"How long have you…"

"Since you got shot. Don't worry my dear, the streets are the only place I have cameras."

"That's it, when I get home, I'm searching my flat."

"Whatever you like, my dear. Just remember, Sherlock didn't have to buy you that ring, and one that was so suiting to your liking."

"Come to think of it… How did he know my size?"

"By observation. If you noticed, the one I got you was also the perfect size."

"It's kind of creepy how you guys do that."

"But our observation makes your life that much simpler." Mycroft chuckled. "One day, Sherlock may observe your feelings for him. How he responds to them is entirely up to him but I feel like the ring was a nice push to make him open up to change. Don't you agree?"


	12. Just Business

Chapter Twelve: Just Business

I walked into the station and headed for my desk, checking to see if I had any paperwork. I didn't and that was probably due to everyone knowing about my current assignment as foster mom. No doubt, as soon as the case was solved, I would have a mountain to go through.

After I found Lestrade I went over the routine questions. "So has anything new come up?"

"Nothing noteworthy yet. DNA is still running and the bodies were too far gone for fingerprints. I doubt we'll find anything on the mystery woman unless she somehow is in the system. I doubt it though."

"Check dental and medical records." I said, getting the look from Anderson that they were in the process of doing that already.

"I doubt we'll find anything new." Anderson sighed and he looked down at a clipboard he was holding. "Molly is with the bodies but I still doubt we'll find anything useful."

I ran a hand through my hair and Donovan stopped as she was walking by, grabbing my wrist to examine my hand.

"Is that a ring on your finger, McCarron?"

"Well it's not an earring, now is it? And it's Holmes now." I said as I pulled my hand away.

"Good god! You actually went through with it and married him?" Anderson nearly choked as Donovan's eyes went wide.

"It's not official, remember?" Lestrade sighed as he rubbed his temples. "It's part of Sherlock's plan to find the real killer."

"Yeah, but, a ring and everything? You sharing the same bed as the freak too?" Donovan asked as she crossed her arms. My temper was starting to flair and I couldn't help but have some fun at their expense.

"Not that it's any of your business, but no. We aren't sharing the same bed. We haven't been able to make it that far yet."

Anderson's eyebrows shot up in surprise and then down in confusion. "Wait… you mean…?"

"My couch is fairly comfortable for two people to share. And my carpet isn't something to complain about either. It's surprisingly soft and easy on my back." I fiddled with the ring and grinned as Donovan's mouth fell open. "Now then, you said the bodies were with Molly?"

They nodded and Lestrade went with me towards the morgue, a smile tugging at his normally serious lips. "I've never seen them shut up so fast unless Sherlock was around. You haven't really…?"

"Oh, lord, no!" I grinned. "Relationships aren't Sherlock's thing and I have a feeling that sex is even lower on that list. But I have to admit, it was funny to put that image in their heads."

"You've been hanging around him too long." Lestrade shook his head and I shrugged.

"Maybe, but if I've learned things from him, hopefully he's learned some from me as well."

"Here's hoping." He sighed as he opened the door into the autopsy room where Molly was ready and waiting.

"Oh, good. Zoey's here." She smiled and scurried around to grab me gloves and a mask, reminding me once more of a mouse. "You wont… faint again… will you?"

"I shouldn't. Even though I've only been here a few months, I've developed a bit more of a tolerance to these sorts of things. I think the fact that it was a kid is what hit me the hardest." I smiled and took the gloves from her, putting them on. "What have you found?"

"Whoever did this really did a number on them. Especially on this woman." Molly pulled back the sheet revealing a rather off-putting body. I held back a gag as the smell hit me, albeit not as bad as when I had visited the crime scene. The bodies had been cooled and cleaned here. Most of the worst was gone for the time being. Actually, it wasn't so much gone as being prevented.

I held the mask up to my mouth and nose as I stepped closer to see what she was trying to show us. The body was covered in multiple lacerations, most of which were directed at the lower torso and face.

"See, right here," Molly stuck her hand into a part of her stomach that looked like hamburger. "Is where most of the rage was directed. Strange place for such anger."

"Why do you say that?" Lestrade asked, holding his own mask and avoiding any contact with the body.

I, on the other hand, leaned closer and stuck my hand in alongside Molly's. The gloves prevented contamination but didn't prevent the slimy, wet feeling of this woman's body turned mush.

"Your assailant's anger was specific. Most of the injuries were the same for all three victims: lacerations to the face to disfigure and maim and then to the abdomen and chest area to kill. But none of the initial stabs were fatal."

"He wanted to make them hurt before he finished them off." Lestrade shook his head. "Hurt them enough so they stay down and then torture them until he's had his fun."

"On this woman especially. His anger wasn't directed at her, since her face was distorted but not totally obliterated. Down here is where he appears to have aimed all his rage."

"Why would he do that?" Lestrade asked as he shook his head.

"Because… This is what started his rage in the first place." I mumbled as I took my hand out and peeled off the gloves. "She cheated on him. Isaac is Gatiss' son."

"Oh, bloody hell."

"All his anger was at her for her infidelity but also at the fact that she gave birth to someone's child that wasn't his own. He was constantly reminded of her affair due to this child." I shook my head as I looked at the body. "I can't say I blame her."

"Why is that?"

This time molly answered. "She had undergone significant physical stress. There are many points on her body where a bone has fractured and then healed itself. Most of the time it appears that it wasn't given proper treatment so chances are hospitals wouldn't have many records about her injuries."

"Youre trying to tell me she was abused?"

"As was her son. When I gave Isaac a bath, he had very faint bruises which were older and easily overlooked by medics. However, bruises that are fresh appear more clearly when heat is introduced. The bath water brought the newer injuries out into the open."

"So he was after his wife and her illegitimate child." He sighed and lowered his mask. "I really hate my job sometimes."

"Don't we all?"

"He directed all his anger at her reproductive organs." Molly said quietly.

"Then how did the kid get away from all that? He took down three adults on his own!"

I was silent as my eyes came to fall on the woman's wrist. "Hey, this wound is out of place. Granted, it is defensive which would fit but…"

"It's angled differently than the others." Molly noticed right away once I pointed it out. "But why?"

"Oh, my god…" I breathed as I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. "It is defensive but she caused it intentionally." I turned and headed for the door as Lestrade and Molly watched me in confusion.

"What does that mean?" I heard Lestrade call after me. "Where are you going?"

"Home! Sherlock was right…"

"Right about what?"

"That cut was from throwing herself in front of an attack. She put herself in harm's way. She was protecting Isaac." I started jogging through the precinct and then running full speed once I was outside. "He's still after Isaac.. and he's out for blood!"


	13. Voices

Chapter Thirteen: Voices

I ran up my apartment steps and threw open the door, tackling the small boy into a hug. However, Isaac was in Sherlock's arms at the time so I ended up tackling them both.

"And what exactly caused such a sudden desire for physical affection?" Sherlock asked as I had latched onto him in order to embrace the child now sandwiched between us.

"I don't think that came out the way you intended. But that doesn't matter. Isaac is in more trouble than we thought!"

Sherlock handed him off to me and straightened his jacket. "Now explain what you mean by that? We were already aware that he was in danger."

"From being found and taken back by an abusive father, not killed!" I knelt on the floor and reluctantly let Isaac go so he could go back to the crayons that were scattered on my coffee table. The small hands picked up a black stick and started scribbling. Judging from the assorted papers on the floor, he'd been trying to draw something all day. "Sherlock, those people who were killed, it wasn't about them. Well, it was, but it was mostly about Isaac. He was the target."

"The target you say?"

"His mother had marks on her arms that didn't match the others. She threw her arms in the way of the blade. She was protecting her son. He was going to be killed right in front of her, Sherlock."

"A final act of love, wasted."

"Wasted? Are you serious? She did it to save him! If she hadn't, he would have been killed and we would have found four bodies instead of just three!" I couldn't believe he didn't understand what love could bring someone to do. "Sherlock, do you remember what happened with Moriarty last year?"

"Of course." I saw his jaw clench slightly and his eyebrow twitch in frustration. He had let him go in order to help me and to save John and my brothers.

"Why do you think I, oh, I don't know… Shot myself? If you truly care about someone enough to yourself in harm's way to save them, you end up doing some stupid things in order to protect them. This woman was no different. She was me, and the assailant was Moriarty."

I saw his eyebrows furrow more and he locked eyes with me. "Which is your way of saying you agree with her dying to save the boy? Turn the tables, Zoey! You could have died as well! Then where would you be?"

"You're not still hung up about that, are you? That doesn't matter anymore because I survived! This isn't about me, it's about Isaac!"

"You just said that she is you, Zoey. You're making this case personal!" Sherlock's eyes were like ice as they glared at me. "Nothing good comes from bringing emotion into cases like this, you should know that well enough by now."

"I'm taking care of a child whose mother died saving him! How am I not supposed to take that personally? Someone wants to kill this child, Sherlock! Some man out there, who has no problem killing others in a very painful and violent way, is hunting this child!"

"After killing those people you don't think he gave up and just let the child go?"

"If you had seen her body lying on the table, you'd know that there's no chance he gave up on this boy. All his anger was caused by the boy. For Christ's sake, Sherlock, he turned his mother's reproductive organs into hamburger meat! He wants this boy. And he will not hesitate to get rid of whoever gets in his way."

Sherlock sighed and scratched his head, ruffling his own hair so the curls fell a bit more wildly. "I have a plan but I feel that you'll be quite vehement against the idea…" I saw his eyes dart over to Isaac who was still coloring.

"Why do I have a feeling that I really won't agree with whatever it is you're thinking?"

"He's after Isaac, correct? There is the option of putting him out in the open."

"No! no way in hell will I put him in danger! You want to use him as bait to lure him out! I agreed the first time because I didn't think he would try to kill him, only try to take him so he wouldn't talk to anyone. But this? No. I won't allow it."

"I told you you'd be vehement against it. But what alternatives can you come up with?"

I was silent as I thought for a moment. "I'd suggest taking him to the station and doing a DNA comparison, but seeing as how we've already agreed that he doesn't share any genes with his attacker… It would be pointless."

"That would take far too long even if it was feasible. Other ideas please."

"Im out of ideas, Sherlock. But I don't want to put this boy in danger!"

"I can see that, However, I'm not seeing much of a choice. This man is most certainly driven by revenge, and will only be attracted by way of this boy. I can find no other option, can you?"

"No, but you're supposed to be smart and figure it out!" I felt like he was putting all the pressure on me. This boy was just as much his responsibility as he was mine. The answer to the case all rested with what was in the child's mind.

"And you're supposed to be clever!" He snapped back, obviously not liking me putting all the thinking onto him for once.

"I never claimed to be clever! That's just your observation!"

"Which, need I remind you, are always right!"

"No, no you're not! You've been wrong about me before!" I was shouting now, probably because with each comment we were both getting louder. My body was growing hot from the aggravation and my eyes were stinging from growing tears of anger. Why was it that only Sherlock or my mother was able to make me this mad?

"Fine, then; almost always right. But still, you're the one who should come up with the obvious route! The one who will try anything to do so! The only one out of either of us who really has a heart to truly give a damn about this boy!"

"You do too have a heart so stop pretending you don't! I've seen and felt it myself! Good lord, would you try to act like a normal human for once?" I poked him in the chest with my finger harder than I had intended and he suddenly grabbed my wrist, pulling it to the side.

"I would if I knew how!"

"Stop it!"

We both froze as an unknown voice rang out loud and clear. It was a small voice, but it had so much power behind it. I turned, as Sherlock did the same, releasing my hand as we both looked at the little boy standing by my couch, a drawing clutched tightly in his hand.

"I-Isaac..?"

"Benedict…" the little boy said quietly. "Mummy called me Ben."

Sherlock stood confused at his sudden outburst as I ran over and pulled the child into a hug. "Why didn't you tell us before? Why didn't you say anything?"

He wrapped his arms around me and started to cry. It was a sound that was so sweet, yet broke my heart. I cradled his head against my shoulder and wrapped my arm around his back, holding him close as I held back my own tears. "Oh, Ben…"

"I was so scared… I thought that if I didn't say anything that he'd go away!" he sobbed and I looked up at Sherlock.

"Who would go away?"

Sherlock took the drawing from his hand and looked at it, his brows furrowed once more and he turned it around to show it to me. I saw a red scribbled mess around and on a large figure. The figure had red eyes to match his surroundings and jagged teeth. If it hadn't been for the shirt and combed grown hair, I would have thought it was a monster. Possibly something that lived in his closet.

I was wrong. This monster lived in his everyday life.

"Ben… You thought who would go away?"

He sniffed and clung to me tighter, his body shaking like when we had first met. "My daddy…"


	14. Responsibilities

Chapter Fourteen: Responsibilities 

I managed to calm Ben down and we spent the next couple of hours just bonding. Even Sherlock attempted to join in as I colored with the boy. I didn't want to force anything out of him until he was ready so I avoided asking him anything pertaining to the case. I decided instead, to ask questions about him.

"What's your favorite animal?" He said dog and so I started drawing one for him. "And your favorite color?" Blue. I picked up a crayon and started to color in the dog I had drawn for him. He smiled.

"You're really good." He mumbled as he rested his cheeks in his hands, elbows propped up on the coffee table.

"I started drawing when I was about your age." I said, smiling as I started to draw him next to the dog. "Crayons, markers, finger paint. Whatever I could make use, I did."

"My mommy was good at drawing too." He said, mumbling again.

"Was she?" I looked over at him. "What else did she like to do?"

"She could sing really pretty. She sang me to sleep all the time. And she liked to play with me. She would play hide and seek when Daddy would get mad. I got really good at hiding…"

I heard a snap and Sherlock cleared his throat, touching my hand which had broken the crayon I had been holding. Picking the crayon pieces out of my palms, he set them down next to the pile with the others.

"I think that's enough coloring for one day."

"Right… Who's hungry? I could make something for dinner real quick."

"I already fed him while you were away." Sherlock said, somehow sounding almost reassuring. "How about a snack before bed time instead?"

Ben nodded and ran into the kitchen to point out the ice cream to Sherlock. I was amazed by the fact that, in the one day Sherlock had stayed with us; Ben had already warmed up to him. He was running around, waiting at the fridge for him to catch up. They had been cuddling when I had come home. And most of all: he had talked.

I realized that it had taken a fight for him to do so and wished that there had been another way.

We all had ice cream and sat on the couch to eat it. Ben had plopped himself between me and Sherlock, appearing content as he got chocolate on his face. Sherlock had the same serving size as Ben, making me think that he wasn't one for sweets.

"So, Ben," Sherlock said suddenly, making me almost dread what he was going to say next. He had always been blunt but he had to remember that he was dealing with a traumatized child. "What was your mother like?"

I was pleasantly surprised with the way he worded his question. I tried to hide my approval by taking another bite of my ice cream. He looked at me and wrinkled his brow with a questioning look.

"She was pretty." Ben said after he had swallowed his last bite of chocolate. "She was really pretty. And super nice." I took our bowls into the kitchen as he continued. "She was really good at everything." Somehow, I couldn't help but smile when he said that. I remembered when I had thought my parents were perfect. In some ways, I still did.

"I'm sure she was." Sherlock said as he lean forward to drape his arms over his knees. "What about your dad?"

I had my back against the kitchen wall, staying out of sight to listen to them. It was nice that they were having a one on one conversation.

"He's always mad…" I could picture him fiddling with his hands, staring at his feet like most children do. "I don't know why, be he's always mad."

"Mad at who?"

"Mommy... sometimes me."

"What happens when he gets mad?"

"He yells a lot." He said quietly.

"Does he just yell?" Sherlock asked. He was prying. I could tell. But he was doing it in a gentle way which surprised me. He was learning.

I could feel the tension in the room as Ben fell silent. "I don't want to say… He'll get mad if he finds out I told you… I'm not supposed to tell." His voice cracked and I looked around the corner in time to see Sherlock lean closer, about to ask another question. Ben turned and threw his arms around his neck at the same time; stopping Sherlock in his tracks.

The action was one Sherlock hadn't anticipated as the boy hugged him, hiding his face into the bigger man's shoulder. Sherlock was puzzled as to how to react. He saw me, asking me silently for an answer. I smiled and made a hugging motion, prompting Sherlock to move one hand and rest it on Ben's back. He patted him once then rubbed his back as he attempted to comfort the boy.

The two of them stayed that way until Ben yawned and Sherlock looked at me again.

"Okay, you two, I think it's bedtime. What do you think?" I walked over and took Ben from Sherlock, who almost seemed to resist handing him over. After a quick bath, I tucked him into my bed and kissed his forehead. "Come and get me if you need anything, okay?"

"Zoey..?" His little voice made my heart leap, especially when he said my name for the first time. It was so timid and shy; yet when he had shouted at us it had been the strongest voice I had ever heard.

"What is it?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"Why would you ask that?" I was kneeling beside the bed so I was at eyelevel as he pulled the covers up to his chin. "I'm not mad at you at all."

"Even though I yelled?"

"I'm glad you yelled."

"You are?" He sat up and looked at me, puzzled by that response. "Daddy usually gets really mad when I yell. Mummy tells me not to yell 'cause it makes him mad…"

"Why do you yell?"

"Because…" He looked down at his hands. "Daddy says I shouldn't tell anyone… He says he'll hurt Mummy if I tell…"

I fought for the words to say to that. The lump growing in my throat was preventing me from talking at all. "Ben…" I managed to choke out. "I won't let him hurt your mum ever again."

"Promise?" He looked me in the eyes and I was now battling the tears back as I pulled him into a tight hug so he couldn't see my face.

"I promise. Your dad won't hurt anyone ever again. I won't let him. I'll protect you…"

After tucking Ben back in, I left the door open a crack, finding Sherlock waiting for me.

"Why do you do that? Why do you make promises like that?"

"Like what?"

"You can't protect him forever, Zoey. He still thinks his mother is in danger. He could tell us everything and it wouldn't matter anymore if he did or didn't."

"I will protect him for as long as I am able. And you're right. It doesn't matter if he does or doesn't, so I won't force him to tell me." I walked past him and sat on the couch, putting my face in my hands. "I know what you're going to say, so don't bother."

"You're emotionally attached." He was standing in front of me, looking down as he observed my reactions.

"I said: Don't bother." I didn't look up as the tears finally came down. "Just… he's just a little boy, Sherlock."

"So we've gone over before. But that doesn't make any of this your responsibility."

"Bullshit." I looked up at him, a mess of emotions flooding through me. I was mad, frustrated, hurt, confused. I didn't understand anything at all at the moment. "This boy was put under my watch. My protection! That makes him my responsibility!"

"But caring about him this much wasn't in the job description."

"Not everything is in the fine print. Sometimes it comes with the territory."

"You do realize you're only making this harder on yourself." Sherlock sighed and looked away, focusing his attention on something across the room. "You're making this personal when it has nothing to do with you. You're turning him into your brothers again."

I jumped up, making him look down at me. We were closer than I had first realized but distance didn't matter right now. "This has nothing to do with my brothers!"

"Then what is it?"

"His dad did all that to him; to his mother! Fathers aren't supposed to do things like that! They're supposed to love and care for their wives, and protect their children!"

"But his wife was unfaithful. And the child wasn't his."

"That shouldn't matter! There are tons of fathers out there who raise children that aren't theirs for one reason or another. That doesn't stop them from loving them like they truly are theirs. He's not my brother. He's not my son, but that hasn't stopped me from treating him as though he was! If a child is put under your care, you have a responsibility to that child to protect them! Whether it's from themselves or others, that child still has its life in your hands! A father should teach a little boy to play catch, to stand up to bullies, or how to deal with girls. As a father, by choice or by birth, you have a responsibility to watch over that child and to help them; not harm them. Sherlock, sometimes blood doesn't matter… Love shouldn't rely on that."

"You are only going to hurt yourself more by 'loving' this child the way you do." Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "This is a temporary arrangement. You can't keep him. You'll have to give him back at some point."

I felt like he had just slapped me. I knew that I had to hand him over once the case was over, but I hadn't had the effect of that fact sink in until that moment. "I know…" I tried to stop them but another tear bubbled up and ran down my face, followed by more. "I know that already but I can't help it!"

Sherlock put a hand against my cheek to catch the first tear, having it run over his hand. "Zoey, did you know that it's a psychological fact that when a person cries, if the first tear comes from the right eye, it's because of happiness; however, if it rolls out of the left it is due to pain?"

I shook my head. "No, I didn't. And I don't see what that has to do with anything right now."

He put his other hand on my face, cradling it as he made me look up at him. "You're in pain."

My hand clutched my chest, gripping my shirt for dear life as I let out a sob as sat down on the couch again. "It hurts so much… What I'm doing right now…"

"What are you doing?"

"Loving… Loving things I shouldn't more than I should." I ran my hands through my hair, pulling it back and resting my hands on my neck as I looked up at him. "I can't help it, Sherlock. I can't help but care… And every time, every single time, I end up getting hurt somehow." I shook my head and took a deep breath as Sherlock sat beside me. I looked over at him. "I don't want to hurt anymore…"

"You are a mystery, Zoey, a mystery that I'm having the most difficult time solving. Just when I think I have you figured out, you change on me; you show a new side of yourself."

"I don't understand…" I sniffed.

"You know that you have an emotionally draining job, yet instead of blocking out your feelings like others would, you fuel them. You know that caring will hurt you and yet you still do and somehow, it gets the job done right. You get hurt to the point where you think you'll never be fixed." He gave me a look telling me he was talking about now. He was analyzing me like I was a case. I was slightly offended but I listened anyway. "You put yourself in these situations deliberately. You seek them out."

"Why? Why would I do that when I know how it will end for me?"

"Because you want different endings for others. You see possibilities to change their current situation. You want to play the role of hero; wither they know you are or not. You want something better for them." He paused and looked me over again. "That or you're masochistic."

I laughed and wiped my eyes. "Oh, yes. You caught me… Pain… yeah, bring it…"

"Is that sarcasm I detect?"

After a pause and a moment of staring between us I nodded. "No, Sherlock. It's not sarcasm. It's me pouring out my deepest darkest secret."

"And what would that be?"

A smile found its way to my lips as I stood up to get myself a glass of water. "I just guess that will be another mystery about me that you'll have to solve."

As I filled the glass I heard movement from the hallway.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, sounding bored, or tired. He was probably sick of dealing with me. I was an emotional roller coaster at the moment and every time we worked together, I ended up crying.

"Can I have a story?" Ben asked quietly. He sounded so tired but it wasn't that he needed a story to fall asleep; it was the fact that he just wanted someone close by and have a gentle voice to fall asleep beside.

I heard Sherlock sigh and then the familiar sound of a book being slid out of its normal position on my shelf. "Come on," Sherlock said as I heard footsteps move down the hallway back towards my room. "I know you'll like this one."

"How do you know?" Ben asked curiously, apparently never having seen the book before.

"Because Zoey wrote this one and Zoey writes very good stories."


	15. Teasing

Chapter Fifteen: Teasing

I was awoken by my phone going off. My alarm had been set to go off once a month around this time so I could web-chat with my sister. Analise insisted on contact after the whole shooting myself incident last year and wanted to make sure I was still alive. That and she was the go-between for my mother and me.

It was an eight hour time difference for us and so I had to get up early and she stayed up late. I yawned as I pulled my laptop over to the couch where I had slept, yet again, and set it up, turning it on and waiting for her to start the conversation.

I clicked "accept" and her face appeared. I had to smile as she looked just as disheveled as I did. Her hair was up into a messy bun and she was in a tank top and sweatpants; matching me from the other night.

"Good morning, sunshine." Ana grinned. "Glad to see you're not one of the undead quite yet."

"Very funny, Ana." I yawned and combed my hair with my fingers. She knew I had never been a morning person. "Isn't it past your bedtime, little girl?"

"Im bigger than you are!" she whined, not liking me always pointing out that I was older. "And here I called for a nice civil conversation." Ana gave me her little sulking face before smiling and taking a bite of the popcorn which I assumed was somewhere off screen.

"Got a boyfriend yet?" I asked, making her groan and throw popcorn at the camera.

"You sound like mom! No! How about you? Popping out those grandkids she's longing for yet?"

"Do I look pregnant to you?" I snapped, rubbing my stomach self-consciously. She just shook her head, grinning and ate more popcorn. "What are you up to?"

"Watching a movie for class. Not sure what the connection is to the class but oh well, it's an excuse to have a movie night with my roomie and eat junk food." I saw Rachel in the background wave and I waved back.

"Hey, Rach."

Rachel rolled her desk chair over beside Ana and ate a chip, her red hair in a braid that feel over her shoulder. "What's up, Zo? How's work in London?"

"Could be better but it also could be worse. I got assigned babysitting duty for a witness."

"Babysitting a witness?" She repeated. "Don't they have witness protection for that?"

"Yeah, but this witness is different. A four year old was found covered in his mother's blood." I said, watching Ana's eyes grow wide and Rachel grow pale. "They think the father did it, only… the bodies found were so terribly disfigured we have no idea who his mother really was. So finding his dad will be tough."

"Good god… his mother's…? He had to see that?" Rachel choked, obviously not the one for a lot of details. Ana was the same, although I usually told her anyway just to watch her facial expressions.

I nodded. "Yeah. We finally got his real name but only his first. It's not much, but its progress."

"Progress is good." Rachel's brown eyes moved off to the side slightly, a rather impish smile being flashed at Ana, who had a similar look cross her face.

"On the bright side…" Ana suddenly piped up in an extremely friendly tone. "Who's tall, dark, and handsome and why is he coming out of your bedroom?" She asked slyly, her smirk growing wider.

Tall, dark, and… Oh, no… I turned around to see a more disheveled than I'd like my sister to see Sherlock walking lazily, and rather suggestively, out of the bedroom. I couldn't help but facepalm and groan. Dammit, Sherlock!

Sherlock noticed the webcam and walked over, leaning over my shoulder and keeping himself pressed closer than I was comfortable with at the moment, given the situation. "Oh, is that a friend of yours?"

"No, Sherlock, it's my sister, Ana. You met her last year, remember?" It was I could do to keep from gritting my teeth. The situation kept getting more embarrassing with each passing moment. Starting with Sherlock's body language and how this whole thing was out of context for Ana.

"Ah. Well, then this does get a bit awkward, doesn't it?" He said that, but I could tell he didn't care.

"Man, Zo! You sure know how to pick 'em!" Rachel exclaimed as she looked Sherlock over as much as she could via the camera. I could see Ana doing the same, even though she had met him in person before. I had made it very clear then that there was nothing between us, but at the moment it was all counterproductive. It now seemed as though there was everything between us.

"So, you prefer being called Zo? But Zoey… flows better. Two syllables are better than one." Why now, of all times, did he feel the need to sound all sexy as he spoke?

"And why do you say that, Sherlock?" Ana asked, sounding more interested than she should. Rachel just ate another chip, looking very content and entertained.

"Ana, wasn't it? Well, Ana, it just sounds better when—" His voice was too sexy for a normal conversation. I had to stop him before he gave Ana the wrong idea, which he already had.

"Okay, that's enough outta you." I put my hand over Sherlock's mouth, forgetting about the ring still residing on my finger. Ana's eyes got wide and Rachel choked on another chip, pointing at the computer screen.

"Waaaiiit… Are you two really..?"

"No. We aren't. Nice chatting with you. We'll do it again soon. Bye!" I said quickly before ending the conversation and snapping my laptop closed as fast as possible. "You just HAD to do that, didn't you?"

"I was only going to say 'having a nice conversation' Zoey. What did you think I was going to say?" Sherlock stood up straight and smirked knowingly.

"God, you're such an arse."

"Good use of vocabulary. You're learning."

"That's all going to go back to my mom! She'll think… and then… Agh! I'll never hear the end of it!" I rubbed my temples and groaned.

"You're clear across the world. If calling you is the worst she can do…"

"My mother will call, text, and email to no end until I reply and tell her everything she wants to hear. She's been dying for grandkids for as long as I've been out of high school."

"I'm sure she's just as excited for you to get married like any normal mother." Sherlock mumbled as he went to make himself some coffee.

"My father is looking forward to that a lot more than my mother. My mom just wants grandkids. Marriage or not."

"Mum." Sherlock said, sounding rather bored.

"What?"

"It's mum. Not mom."

"Oh for… it's too early for this…" I shook my head and Sherlock walked back into the living room as the coffee dripped. I looked up and he was holding the book he had taken to read to Ben, his face serious and looking rather angry. "What?"

He pulled something out from between the pages as he looked it over. "I'll see you soon, Zoey-Jim." He said as he read the note I had been sent a year ago. "I think you have explaining to do."


	16. Secrets

Chapter Sixteen: Secrets

"I totally forgot I put that there." I said as I looked at the note he was holding between his fingers. I suddenly felt very anxious and on edge now that the note had resurfaced; and that Sherlock was aware of its existence.

"You have a handwritten note from my arch enemy and the man who murdered children, kidnapped your family; whom you shot, foreshadowing his return and you just 'forgot' where you put it?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he held the note up to my face. "Why didn't you alert me of it as soon as you received it?"

"I didn't see it as a big deal at the time. It's just a note."

"A note from someone who has it out for us! Namely you! All I do is get in his way. You shot him!" He was obviously upset and I was racking my brain for a way to calm him down.

"Technically, I shot myself…" I tried, getting a colder expression than before. "I didn't want you to worry and besides, he hasn't done anything to make me worry yet."

"He could have killed you six times over by now! When did you get this?"

I looked away, pretending to stare at something across the room. "Oh, lets see… I got it…" I mumbled the answer and he reached over, grabbing my cheeks with one hand to force me to look at him.

"When?" he growled.

I pried his hand off of me and repeated myself louder; now more annoyed with his behavior than worried about his reaction to the truth.

"Over a year. He sent it to me right before I moved." I rubbed my chin and looked up at him. "I didn't want to say anything when you came by because I had already made you worry enough. I didn't need you shipping me stateside or putting me in protective services."

"Even doing both wouldn't be enough with him. You should have told me! He has a year of planning revenge ahead of us!"

"Youre already obsessing over it! This is why I didn't tell you when you stopped by!"

"You had the note then? When I was there? " He stepped back slightly, face becoming calm, almost blank. "You had it under my nose," He quietly affirmed. "I didn't see it. I didn't… oh, stupid. Stupid! How could I have missed it? All this time? Me!" He clutched his head in frustration with one head.

"Hey… you couldn't have known I had it in my pocket at the time…"

"You had it on your person and I couldn't tell!" He groaned as he clutched the note. "I should have known."

"There's no way you could have…" I started but stopped as he shot another look my way.

"When I pulled this note out, your body reacted defensively. You stiffened and paled slightly. A year ago, you would have had an even more noticeable reaction to a note of this nature. It should have been obvious that something was wrong."

"Don't beat yourself up over it." I snatched the note from him and set it on the table beside me. "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd become obsessive over him. He hasn't done anything to me yet."

"But if he had…" Sherlock started, eyes like ice. "You don't understand him like I do. He's biding his time in order to exact the perfect revenge. Perhaps it would have been better to send you home."

I looked at him and sighed. "You obviously still don't know anything about me. If you had sent me home, I wouldn't have gone anywhere."

"It would have been better for you to leave. You would have fallen off his radar and he would have only been concerned about me."

"It isn't all about you, Sherlock. Ever think maybe I was trying to help you by staying? Taking his mind off of you for a time?"

"I don't need help!" He snapped, causing me to flinch even though I tried not to. He noticed and grabbed his coat and scarf. "I need to think. Don't wait up."

After the door closed I sat down and sighed. I had kept a dangerous secret from Sherlock and now he was not only upset at me, but he was going to be obsessed over this new "case" I had dropped on him. Not to mention the whole flirting via webcam for ana and Rachel would probably cause me to receive a phone call from my mother in a few hours…This morning, it seemed, just would not let me win.

"Zoey?" I heard a small voice call and I looked up, spotting Benedict standing in the doorway to my room, rubbing his eyes. His dark curls more askew than normal as he yawned. "Where's Sherlock?"

"He went to work." I said, smiling slightly. He had grown more attached to Sherlock. Improvement, even a little bit, was still a step forward. "How about I get you some breakfast? What do you want to do today?"

"Can we go to the park?" he asked as he climbed onto the chair I had set a dictionary on for Ben to uses as a booster, much to Sherlock's chagrin.

"I don't see why not." I smiled and made him a bowl of Colored Crunchies before pouring myself one as well.

"We're you guys fighting?" Ben mumbled as I poured the milk and he scooped some of the rainbow flakes up in his spoon. "It sounded like you were fighting."

"We weren't fighting. Just arguing."

"Arguing about what?" He looked up at me with a worried expression, as if expecting the tiff to be about him.

"Something I did." I shrugged as I set my bowl down and sat across from him. "I kept a secret from him that I shouldn't have because I thought I was doing the right thing. When he found out, it only made it worse."

"Mummy did something like that." He said quietly as he stared at his spoon.

"Did she?" I lowered my own spoon from my mouth. "Do you know what her secret was?"

He nodded and didn't say anything more about it. "What was your secret?"

"A bad man wrote me a note. The note said he'd see me again, which is bad. I don't want to see him again. "

"Why?" He looked up as I stood, figuring it was better to show him than to just tell him.

I walked over to him and lifted my shirt until the pink scar from the bullet was visible. He reached out a hand and touched it softly, eyes wide and questioning.

"This bad man, he took my little brothers from me. They were about your age at the time." I started, trying to figure out how to make him understand how bad Moriarty was without scaring him too much. He'd been through enough already. "He was hurting other little kids as a game for me and Sherlock."

"A game?"

"Yes. It was a game to him, but not to us. I cried a lot when I saw the hurt kids."

"What about your brothers? Why did he take them?" he looked up at me, his finger still poking my scar. He had the look of intrigue that Kayden and Ian always got when I told them stories of danger or mystery.

"He wanted to hurt Sherlock. He figured that by hurting me, he would get to Sherlock."

"Why? Why not just go after Sherlock?"

"Because sometimes hurting people on the outside isn't as bad as hurting them inside. You can hurt their body but they'll always heal. If you hurt someone's heart, that's sometimes never heals."

"But why hurt you if he wanted Sherlock?" He blinked and tilted his head.

"Because the bad man thought that I was Sherlock's heart. I felt things that Sherlock couldn't and when I was with Sherlock, he could feel them through me. So if he hurt me, he hurt Sherlock."

"So what happened?" By now there was no point in eating the cereal since it was just a soggy rainbow mess.

"He took my brothers and brought them to my house. He had a gun and told me I had to pick one to live, and one to die."

"Did you…?" His eyes were wide and they went back to my scar.

"Never. I would never, ever chose for someone I love to die. I told him he could have me instead. But that's what he wanted. See, a few minutes later, Sherlock had figured out where he was and came to my place. Now Sherlock had to choose as did John who had come with him. Three people, but only two could live."

"Who died?"

"No one. Sherlock refused to choose and John did the same. So the bad man decided to choose for them. He went to shoot one of my brothers but I grabbed the gun and shot myself." I turned so he could see the identical scar on my back. "I almost died when I did that, but the bad man got away and my brothers were safe."

"So the bad man got away?" I nodded and he rubbed my back before wrapping his arms around me. "But you're still okay? And your brothers are okay too?"

I picked him up and took him into the living room, pointing to a picture of my family. "Yes, they are okay. See? There they both are."

"Who else is in there? I don't see you…"

"That's because I wasn't there when this was taken. Those are my sisters. That one is Ana, and that's Danni." I pointed to each person as I held him, feeling him wrap his arms around my neck.

"Who are they?" He leaned forward and pointed to my dad and stepmom.

"That man is my dad; he's a policeman like me." I saw him smile and then turn his attention to Victoria. "And that lady is my stepmom."

"Stepmom?" He sounded puzzled, meaning he'd never heard that term before.

"My mom and dad didn't get along so they moved into different houses. My dad then got a new wife. I like her a lot. It's like I have two moms. Ian and Kayden are from her. We have the same dad but different moms."

He was quiet as he stared at Victoria and then at my brothers. "Mummy's told me her secret. I'm a lot like you, Zoey." I looked at him as he stared at the picture, his eyes locking on Dad and Victoria sitting holding hands, both smiling. "She said I had to keep it a secret from Daddy."

"What secret was that, Ben?" I asked cautiously, wondering what could make him connect to me.

"I was going to live with my other daddy and have a new mum."

"Your other dad?"

"Mummy said that he would take care of me. And she said my new mummy would like me even though I wasn't hers because I was such a good boy." He looked back at me and his eyes welled up with tears. "But Daddy found out. He found out Mummy was going to have me live with them and got really mad. He hurt Mummy..."

I found myself holding him, cradling his head into my neck as he started crying, clutching to my shirt as I stood there, unmoving, facing my family as he said the next words through his sobs.

"He hurt all of them…"


	17. Hello

Chapter Seventeen: Hello

There really was only so much I could do and I was amazed by how suddenly Benedict could switch from tears to a smile like he just had. Ian came to mind. That boy had always kept me on my toes. I suppose he was good practice for Ben. He had spotted his football and wanted to go play again. I sighed as I combed my hair quickly and grabbed a jacket as he fumbled to put his on and grabbed the ball.

He kicked the ball around, trying to bounce it off his knee like he had seen the bigger kids do. Each time the ball shot off in a different direction and he chased after it. I sat on a bench and smiled, enjoying the frustration and joy on his face with each try.

"Zoey! Watch this!" he called, making me sit up and watch even closer. He dropped the ball onto his knee and then chased it down, scooping it up and throwing in up to bounce it off his head. I laughed and stood up, picking up the stray ball that had escaped him yet again.

"Trying to do this?" I asked, smiling as I bounced it off my knee five times. I caught it and started to roll it around on top of my head. "Or this?"

"You're silly, Zoey!" Ben laughed as he hugged my leg. I stopped the ball with one hand and ruffled his hair with the other. I felt him wiggle slightly and looked down, seeing his legs crossed and him doing the stereotypical little kid "potty dance".

"Are you hungry? There's a café right over there." I pointed and smiled. "There's probably a bathroom too. I bet you didn't go before we left."

I took his hand and walked him across the street, leading him inside the small little eatery. His eyes darted about until he found the familiar stick man on the blue slab on the wall. "I'll get you a sandwich."

"Can I have a cookie?" He asked as he jumped up and down.

I couldn't help but laugh as I motioned for him to go. "Yes, yes. Now go before you really go!"

I watched him run in as I stood in line. I wondered if they had peanut butter and jelly here. You could never go wrong with the kid classics. I scanned their menu to check, seeing an option or two I would have to decide between once I got up to the counter.

"Oh. My. God. Zoey?" I jumped slightly upon hearing my name called suddenly and looked around. My heart stopped as I saw the young man behind me pull down his sweatshirt hood and grin, his dark brown eyes lighting up. "I'd know that motherly tone anywhere."

"Jim…" I felt my voice catch in my throat as his grin widened.

"Oh, Zo! I'm so glad you do remember me! It has been quite a while hasn't it?" he stepped forward and put his arms around me, cheek to cheek. I tensed and he chuckled. "I've missed you…"

"What are you doing here?" I managed to ask, trying not to cause attention in case he knew about Ben. I didn't want to be in the same situation as last time. Shooting myself again wasn't on my list of things to do in the future.

"Can't I pay an old friend a visit? I have so few of them nowadays." He pushed me towards the counter and I blinked, still in shock.

"Oh… uh… I'll have two cookies and milk." I managed to focus just long enough to order and pay before being forced to follow him to a table.

"No coffee?" He asked, a smile still plastered on his face. No doubt it was because we were in public and he also didn't want to cause a scene.

"You work around it long enough, it's not the same if you don't make it yourself. I'm surprised I even still drink it at all." I was relaxing a little the longer I went without seeing a weapon on him or a sniper laser on me. When I finally gathered myself enough I dared to continue the conversation, making my voice as calm and strong as I could. I refused to be afraid of him. That's just what he wanted. All of this was merely a mind trick. "What gave you the urge to find me?"

"Well, see, the funny thing was, after the last time we met… I couldn't seem to get you out of my mind." He sounded like an embarrassed high schooler talking to his crush.

"Funny how shooting someone can leave such an impression on a person." I muttered as I broke a piece off one of the cookies.

"Indeed. Although I must admit, your aim was quite impressive for a beginner. Still needs work, however."

"Try me now." I popped the chocolate into my mouth and locked eyes with him.

"That's right! You're a bobby now, aren't you?" His eyes turned into the familiar dark slits but the friendly smile remained. It was an eerie combination. "Amazing how something you hated before is now something you're drawn to." He propped his chin in his palm and smirked. I could tell he was thinking or remembering and I shuddered to imagine what was going through his head.

"Yeah, funny how things work that way." I brushed off that last comment, trying to ignore him. Ben had yet to come out of the bathroom and I hoped he was having problems with the button on his trousers or something that was keeping him off Jim's radar.

"Speaking of funny…" He reached out and firmly grabbed my wrist, pulling my arm across the table so he could examine my hand. "I never would have thought that Sherlock had such fine taste in jewelry. I think this ring quite suits you."

"He's full of surprises." I pulled my hand away and smiled, my eyes also turning cold as we stared at one another. "And he's not the only one."

"Oh, yes. You've quite proven yourself the last time. Shooting yourself, really! That was a twist I never saw coming!" he laughed and ran a finger down my forearm, caressing it. "Well, hopefully there's still a chance for me in the future. You two really don't seem compatible at all. I mean, he's heartless and you have more heart than anyone. I just don't see it working out." He smirked. "Did you get my flowers?"

"Yes. And by the way… a year is not 'soon' as you put it." I couldn't help myself. I found myself toying with him now. He was flirting with me, so all was fair.

"Well, it takes a lot of courage to face a woman who's hurt you like the way you hurt me. But I dare say it was quite worth the wait. Seeing your face again was wonderful."

"Wish I could say it was mutual."

"Mm… you've acquired more sass than last time. I quite like it." His eyes lit up slightly. "Means you're better more fun to play with now. Your reactions should vary even more drastically."

"Can't read my poker face." I smirked and took a bit of cookie and pressed the piece to his lips. His eyes went wide with surprise but he opened his mouth to eat the cookie bit.

"You're correct. I have a very hard time reading you. Which is why you're my favorite plaything." He leaned across the table as Ben walked out of the bathroom and kissed my cheek. "Cute kid," he whispered as he tucked some hair behind my ear before getting up and walking away. "Keep a close eye on him."


	18. Panic

Chapter Eighteen: Panic

I watched Jim leave as Ben finally found me and ran over to me, being immediately scooped up into my arms. He hugged back, unsure of the sudden affection but I knew he enjoyed it.

"Zoey? Why are you shaking?"

"We're going to go check up on Sherlock. Okay?" I smiled, still sounding calm. I was fooling him as well as I could but my body would not stop shaking. I had to get moving. I abandoned the rest of my cookie, having quickly lost my appetite. I had tucked the milk and Ben's cookie into my coat pocket as I carried him out of the café and made my way to Baker street as fast as possible.

I didn't bother knocking. Knowing Sherlock, the door was unlocked. I was right in my assumption and he looked up from his experiment as I pulled Ben inside behind me.

"What are you doing here?" He asked rather coldly, still frustrated either with himself or with me. I couldn't blame him. It only took a second for his face to change as he looked at me. "What happened?"

"I need to…" I started to say, feeling my legs give out. Sherlock managed to read my face and body in time to catch me before I hit the floor.

"Sit down. Yes. Again, what happened?" He repeated as he practically carried me to the couch and sat me down. Ben tilted his head and held his ball nervously.

"Is Zoey okay?" He asked quietly.

I nodded and smiled. "Yes, I'm fine…"

John walked in from his room, no doubt having the day off, and blinked. "Zoey? Whats wrong?"

My hand was shaking uncontrollably as I held it up to look at it. The rest of my body was shaking as well. John looked me over as Sherlock got me water. I took out the carton of milk and the cookie and put them on the coffee table before me for Ben, who was still standing by the door.

"I'm fine, Ben." I smiled, trying not to tremble and failed. "I'm just having an adrenaline dump."

"Why?" Sherlock asked as he set the glass down next to the cookie. "What caused it?"

I bit my lip and looked away, unable to meet his cold eyes. "I should have told you sooner, Sherlock."

"Told him what?" John asked, looking between the two of us.

"You saw him today." Sherlock growled. "Didn't you?"

John looked at Sherlock, puzzled, then back to me as the light bulb turned on. "Jim? You saw Jim?" All I could do was nod and Sherlock's jaw clenched.

"Did he say or do anything to you?"

I wanted to lie but given how keeping secrets last time worked out so well the first time, I thought better of it. "John?"

He looked at me and I looked at Ben. He got the hint and got up, walking over to the boy. "Want to run some errands with me? They need to have a grown up talk."

"I'm hungry." The child said, looking up at the doctor as he took his hand and dropped the ball.

"We'll get you some lunch first then. What would you like?" John asked as he scooped the boy up and headed out the door. I heard Ben's enthusiastic request for pizza as they walked down the stairs.

Once they were gone, Sherlock looked down at me. "What happened?"

I took a deep breath, looking at my trembling hands again before I answered. "He found me." The words sinking in and I began to lose what courage I had used when I had been face to face with Jim. Now, I was losing my nerve. I had put on a brave face then but I found myself starting to panic. "He found me…" I said again as Sherlock sat down on the table to hear me better, since it seemed like I wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

"And what happened when he found you? Did you just see him?"

I shook my head, trying not to lose my control. "No… he was behind me in that café… He touched me." I hugged myself and rubbed my arms, still feeling him. "He acted like he was my friend… Ben was in the bathroom and I didn't want him hurt…"

"So you played along."

Nodding, I continued. "He was cryptic the whole time… not giving away anything directly. He almost seemed to… flirt with me…" I shuddered and Sherlock frowned.

"What did you do?"

"We were in public and Ben was nearby. What could I do? I didn't want to cause a scene in case he had snipers again. I played along. We chatted." I fidgeted with the ring on my finger until Sherlock grabbed my wrist to examine it like Jim had.

"Did he notice?"

"So what if he did?" The question seemed stupid to me. Jim wasn't the one we wanted to notice the ring and since nothing of importance had happened since the "marriage" anyway, the whole idea seemed pointless.

"Because I wish he hadn't. You're in more danger now."

I stood up, shaky but sturdy enough to do so. "More danger? More danger! Are you serious? I made myself a target last year just by hanging out with you and showing emotion! Then I SHOT him! How could I possibly be MORE of a target now? And it's not me I'm worried about, Sherlock. I can take care of myself. It's Ben. I'm concerned about Ben and ONLY Ben! You, on the other hand, see that Ben's case isn't interesting enough for you. Sorry they weren't killed by aliens or something strange like that!"

"Aliens don't exist." He sighed.

"That's not the point! God, Sherlock! This isn't about you! So Jim showed up. He did it to mess with my head. And yours! He isn't what I care about right now even though he could kill me seven ways to Sunday! Ben. Ben is my only reason for being here right now. I don't want him in the middle of my problems! I don't want him to become like Ian or Kayden!"

"You're making it personal again." He muttered as he stood up, hands in his pockets.

"It is personal to me! This boy relies on us to protect him! Where have you been?"

"Trying to find the killer."

"Well, you're sure doing a bang up job." I couldn't stop myself now. My brain and mouth were connected and whatever block I had on it before was gone. "I'm playing babysitter and you're off playing mad scientist. Yeah, really can tell you're trying hard."

"Why are you acting like you want to get rid of him so bad?"

"I don't! You know damn well I don't want to lose him but he has a family out there somewhere! A real family!" I felt the familiar sting of tears and pushed them back. I refused to cry again. "I can't be his mother. I will NEVER be his mother. I can never replace her and I don't want to. She was a good mother and loved him more than I do."

"She kept him around her abusive husband and let him get hit." Sherlock pointed out, making my blood boil further.

"She would make herself the target to PREVENT him from getting hurt worse! Women in her situation don't leave most of the time because they fear the men will track them down and hurt the child further. She bloody DIED to save him! Her last act was to protect him!"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "And what about you? You can't protect him forever."

"But at least I can protect him while I can! I don't see you rushing to jump in front of a knife for him!" I had a feeling it was a low blow but I wanted to make a point. I could tell my ranting was beginning to eat at Sherlock's last nerve by how his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched again. "I at least understand how she felt. I care enough about the people I love to do anything to protect them! What about you? Do you care for anyone enough to die for them? Would you have grabbed that gun like m—"

I couldn't finish that sentence. It was impossible for me to utter that last syllable due to the fact that Sherlock had taken both hands, grabbed the sides of my head, palms squishing my cheeks slightly as he suddenly kissed me.


	19. Silence

Chapter Nineteen: Silence

I was frozen for that split second his lips stopped mine from making another sound. It was sudden and over quickly but I was still left speechless. He had grabbed my quickly but pulled away slowly as we looked at each other, neither saying a word for the longest time.

"Good. That did manage to shut you up." He sighed, rather pleased with himself as my cheeks flushed.

"Excuse me?" I pulled back further and raised my brows, feeling insulted and slightly hurt. "Shut me up?"

"You kept yelling. It was giving me a headache and preventing me from thinking properly." He said as he straightened his coat and ran a hand through his hair. "That, and you were getting emotional. When that happens, you stop thinking properly as well and stop using logic. You use feelings. It's must unnerving."

"Well, sorry for actually having emotions." I huffed, turning my back to him, feeling rather childish. He confirmed that feeling.

"You're behaving like a sulking child, Zoey." He crossed his arms and I glanced over my shoulder at him. To my surprise, he was smiling slightly. "You're back to normal."

"What do you mean 'I'm back'?"

His smile grew more. "You're back to the Zoey I first met. I don't know why, but I didn't much care for the mature version of you. You cared more about what people thought of you instead of just being the way you wanted to be. You almost seemed fake; and far too serious. I have John and Lestrade if I need serious counterparts. You keep me entertained. Although your emotional breakdowns I could do without. Sudden bursts of emotion are rather irritating and distracting."

"Distracting?" I turned to face him more and crossed my arms. "I thought you had me around to BE a distraction. I thought you kept me around because I prevented you from being bored."

"Yes but in an intellectual way. Not a, dare I say, emotional way. I have no need for emotions in my line of work. We've been over this. Yet when you have your, we'll call them 'melt downs', I'm quite at a loss."

"At a loss how?" I raised a brow. This was all familiar and yet his reactions were somewhat different now.

"When you're upset, especially if I caused it, I want to remedy the problem. And when you're sad, I can't stand it. With others I could care less about why they're crying but your tears upset me. They don't seem right to me."

"Don't seem right? What, my tears look strange? Do they glow or something?"

"Not at all; although I would be most intrigued to discover if such a feat is possible. No…" He tilted his head and got a rather sheepish expression. "I don't like it when you cry. They look like they shouldn't belong there. It's a mystery even to me that I'm desperately trying to solve."

I blinked. The subject had turned from Jim stalking me, to Ben and his mother, to Sherlock's elusive emotions. How we wound up here, I had no clue. "Sherlock… Why, out of all the ways to make me shut up, did you kiss me?"

"It seemed the logical solution." He shrugged, making me rather upset to hear that. "Yelling would have only have fueled your emotions further and you would have gotten even more upset and louder. My ears can only take so much punishment, you know. Also, putting my hand over your mouth would have also instigated your ever increasing wrath."

"I have wrath?"

"I've seen you unleash it upon both Donovan and Anderson when they pushed your limit. I have yet to push that boundary over the edge but I can tell when I'm getting close. I would rather not be on the receiving end of all that. In any case, a kiss seemed like the least aggressive act to subdue—"

This time he couldn't finish as I grabbed the lapels of his coat and tugged, pulling him down and stopping his speech with my own mouth as he had not that long ago. He froze as I had but instead of pulling away once he was silent, I continued to pull on his clothes to keep him trapped there.

I felt him attempt to pull away slightly but I ignored his struggling and wrapped an arm around his neck, tangling my hand into his messy dark curls. After a moment I felt him relax and place a hand on the small of my back, pulling me closer to him and locking my head in place with the other hand that tangled itself in my hair as well. I gasped as he suddenly pressed me even closer and deepened the kiss, leaning over me slightly, causing me to lean back. One of my hands moved and pulled at the top button of his shirt and had just gotten it undone when his phone beeped.

In an instant we were a good foot or so apart. He was picking up his phone and fixing his shirt as I was trying to regain my senses and attempted to fix my now mangled hair thanks to him. My heart was pounding so loud that I hardly heard what Sherlock said.

"What?"

"I said: John just texted. While at the park where Ben was found, he started acting strange and clingy. He thinks we should come right away." He was now no longer disheveled and grabbed his scarf and coat by the door, stopping to look back at me.

My hair was now as fixed as I could manage without a proper brush and my face, I could tell from the heat radiating off my cheeks, was no doubt flushed.

I reached out and took the hand which he extended out to me, a smirk crossing his face. "Coming, Mrs. Holmes?"


	20. Sanctuary

Chapter Twenty: Sanctuary

I followed Sherlock as we hurried to the park. Ben hadn't left John's side, having abandoned his ball not far off; as if he had seen something and forgotten about it in his fear. He was clinging to John's leg, looking around with wide eyes. When he saw us he released John from his death grip and ran for us, being caught in my arms.

"What's wrong, Ben?" I asked as he nearly choked me, now clinging to my neck for dear life.

"He's going to be mad…" He said, voice and body shaking. "He's going to hurt me."

"No one is going to hurt you." Sherlock said, surprising me with his quick response. "Who is going to be mad?"

"Daddy… What if he hurts Zoey? No!" he sat up and looked at Sherlock, clutching the collar of my shirt as tightly as possible. "Don't let Daddy hurt Zoey!"

"No one will hurt Zoey." Sherlock growled, looking down at me. I could tell he was subtlety ordering me to stay out of trouble if it did arise.

He was still shaking as I rubbed his back. "Hey, let's go home. I'll make you some cookies since you never got one. How does that sound?" He nodded and I turned to head back home, Sherlock and John following me. I felt him tense when I turned, hiding his face in my shoulder. Someone was watching him. I looked over my shoulder at the detective who locked eyes with me. "He's here." I mouthed and he nodded.

"No doubt." He put a hand on my shoulder as we walked; thumb rubbing the back of my neck. It felt nice but he was probably just playing the role of husband. Then again, what about the kiss back at Baker street? Maybe I was reading too much into it. After all, he had used kissing as a distraction before.

The four of us made our way back to my flat, where we settled down and attempted to calm the now distressed boy. Sherlock sat on the couch with Ben on his lap, looking slightly uncomfortable as he did so. John came into the kitchen after me and reached several things I couldn't in the cupboards.

"We never got him lunch." John said as he set down a large serving bowl. "We were walking through the park, kicking the ball back and forth as we went and then he suddenly froze up and stopped talking. He didn't utter a word until he saw you two."

"He must have been there. His father." I said as I looked out of the kitchen at the two on the couch. Ben was curled against Sherlock's chest, eyes closed tight as he clung to his scarf. Sherlock merely kept a hand on the small back and looked our way, looking rather bored. Really, that man was going to drive me up the wall with his lack of caring. Although, I should know better by now.

"I'll go get us some so he doesn't have to go out again." John said as he headed for the door. "What should I get on it?"

"Doesn't matter. I'll just pick off what I don't like. But you should ask Ben." I opened the bag of flour and reached in with my measuring cup.

John knelt beside the couch and rubbed the mass of curls, making the blue eyes open slowly and look at him. "What do you like on your pizza?"

"Pepperoni…" He said quietly, making John smile and get up.

"Then pepperoni it is. I'll be back in a bit. Lock up after me." He said as he pulled the door shut behind him. Sherlock set Ben down on the couch and turned the bolt on the door, turning around and finding Ben missing.

"Ben?"

I laughed as the sound of a chair squeaking caught Sherlock's attention. Ben was pushing a chair across the kitchen to watch me make the cookies for after dinner. The tall man walked in and leaned against the door frame.

"Want to help?" I offered both of them, Ben nodding immediately. Sherlock just kept watching, reminding me of the guards in the movies that wouldn't speak or do anything but protect and observe.

I pulled the chair closer and grabbed the apron I had hanging on a nearby door. I had never used to it I remembered making cookies with my mother as a child. She had let me wear her apron and I had felt like a grown up helper. After placing it around Ben's neck and tying the back around his waist, I pulled my hair back and smiled. "Ready, Chef Ben?"

"He'd be a baker. Not a chef." Sherlock said, receiving a look from me that asked if it really mattered. He sighed and looked away, almost sulking. He liked being the smart one and I was ruining his fun by keeping him quiet.

"Now, put in two scoops of this." I handed him the cup and pointed to the bag and then cracked the eggs while he did that. I suddenly heard him inhale and turned around to stop him as he sneezed. Only a little cloud of powder arose, but that was enough to affect me as well. I turned quickly to cover my mouth as I had a sudden need to sneeze and ended up running into Sherlock who had somehow materialized right behind us. The collision caused the cup to fly out of my hands as it hit him, covering us all in flour.

Sherlock kept his eyes closed as he took a deep breath and started brushing his now gray hair. Ben, on the other hand, was laughing like never before at the whole thing. "Ghosts! We're ghosts!"

"Yes, I suppose we are. Now come on, Mister Ghost. We need to finish making these cookies if you want them for dessert." Sherlock observed as the two of us put in the ingredients and he helped me stir. Once I was done with the spoon, I handed it to the boy who ran off into the living room, plopping onto the couch to eat the dough stick to it. Oh, the memories of doing the same.

I smiled as I started rolling the lumpy goo into balls before setting them on the cookie sheet. Sherlock had done his best to get his hair and skin back to their normal color while I would save the cleaning for after we were done making the mess altogether.

I wiped my hands on my pants after I put the first pan into the oven, two white handprints clinging to my thighs. Once I had set the timer, I walked over to the stereo which could play my ipod and turned it on to some music I knew Ben already liked.

"Here comes the sun… Do do do do…" the song started and I saw his eyes light up as I started to sing along to it. He dropped the spoon which was licked clean, and jumped off the couch, grabbing my outstretched hands. I held his tiny fingers in mine as I pushed his arms forward and back but moved his feet from side to side at the same time.

At one point, I scooped him up and held him above my head, smiling as I let him fall a little before catching him again. His arms wrapped around my neck and I felt him smile, cheek to cheek.

When the song ended and another started, I set him down and bowed. "You're quite the dancer."

He smiled widely and bowed back. "You're good too!"

"That was hardly dancing, you do realize that." Sherlock said, once more watching from the doorway. "All you were doing was swaying from side to side. There were no formal foot movements or anything remotely close to a true dance."

Ben scrunched up his face, like most children do when thinking. "Then YOU dance!"

"Yeah." I put my hands on my hips and smirked. "If you're the expert, why don't you show us how it's really done?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a mist of fine powder escaping between his fingers from where he hadn't gotten all of the flour out. He then shrugged out of his coat, tossing it onto the couch before grabbing my hand. "Fine. I'd rather not, as my build isn't suited well for such a thing."

"Wrong." I corrected, trying not to blush as he put a hand between my shoulders on my back and took my hand. With my other hand I rested it on his shoulder and looked up at him. "Your build isn't suited for dancing alone but it works just fine for couple dances. I should know." I waited for the song to change and smiled. "My dad and Victoria go dancing all the time and he's built just like you."

The intro started and I felt his muscles prepare for the trained movements they would perform. He no doubt had been taught how to dance as a child, if Mycroft's hints about their childhood rearing were any indication. "You say your father dances?"

"Yes. He taught me a thing or two himself." He had taught me how to waltz and often had twirled my about the living room as a girl.

"Dancing isn't just about being taught the movements…" He said, looking down at me, his face unreadable. From what I could gather, however, he looked rather bored. "For the woman, it's about following the man and being graceful. For the man, it's about leading them correctly for the desired result."

"It's not just a power trip." I replied. The song was another Beatles tune. "It's an act of trust between the two. The man has to be trusted to lead the woman where she needs to go and that he won't allow her to stumble. The woman, in turn, has to be trusted to follow the man where he leads her. If she doesn't trust him to do what he needs to, they both fail."

"Do you trust me?" He asked quietly, pulling me closer as he took a step forward, moving me back.

"What do you think, Mister Detective?" I smirked as he moved to the side and I moved along with him. I closed my eyes and listened to the music, feeling the movements of his muscles and steps, following as his pushes and pulls me slightly.

"_I give her all my love…That's all I do. And if you saw my love… you'd love her too…"_ I listened to the words of the song but didn't really pay attention to them as we danced. I opened my eyes for a moment and saw Ben sitting on the couch, eyes locked on us and a dreamy yet knowing smile plastered across his face. I smiled and closed my eyes again, just escaping into all the sensations that didn't need to be seen.

I could feel Sherlock's smooth movements, sliding us around my room gracefully, almost as if I were walking on air. I could hear him breathing and if I listened closely enough, I could hear him humming to help keep him on beat. He felt warm and I slid my hand off of his shoulder and down his chest, resting it over his heart. I felt it pounding and smiled more. No matter what he told everyone, Sherlock Holmes did indeed have a heart that beat just like every other person's.

"_Bright are the stars that shine… Dark is the sky. I know this love of min… will never die… And I love her…"_ the song trailed off into the instrumental ending and I felt Sherlock release my shoulders, pushing ever so slightly to twirl me at the end as I held onto his fingers and opened my eyes after I had spun around and ended up being dipped. As I leaned back over one of his arms, his face was hovering just over mine from catching me in the final movement.

I reached up and ran a hand down his cheek only to hear a knock at the door. I stood up with Sherlock's help and turned to look at the source of the interruption.

"That's probably John with the pizza. Sherlock, can you take Ben to get washed up? I'll let him in." I smiled, even though I had wished that John hadn't returned so soon. Ben rounded the corner, followed by Sherlock as I unlatched the knob. "We were starting to wonder if we should send a search… party…?"

The man at the door wasn't John. But Whoever he was, he had a gun and was pointing it at me.


	21. Protection

Chapter Twenty One: Protection

Not this again. My stomach suddenly churned and twinged with the remembrance of what happened the last time I had one of those pointed at me. Granted, I had made it point at me in the first place but that wasn't the point.

"What do you want?" I asked calmly, making slow movements so as not to seem a threat.

"I want my son." He growled, making his way into my apartment, keeping the gun aimed at me. "Get him for me. Now."

"Your son?" I couldn't help myself and chuckled as I said that. "Really? Then where is the missing person's report you filed when you realized he was gone? Where's the concern for his safety?"

"Listen, little girl, I don't want to have to ruin your pretty little face but I will if I don't get what I want." He moved the revolver in his hand and pressed the cold barrel against my forehead.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and saw Sherlock grab Ben, pulling him back around the corner and covering his mouth. He disappeared back down the hall, hopefully to hide the boy and to call for help. I looked at the couch where I had dropped my jacket, my service revolver tucked inside the pocket.

"You want him?" I asked, feeling my anger rising. I didn't like a gun being pointed at me, but I also didn't like men like him. The ones who hurt their wives or children. In his case: both. "You WANT him? You sure had me fooled!" He flinched, caught off guard by my reaction. I wasn't responding how he had hoped. "You beat him and yet you want him? You say he's your son and yet you sure as hell don't treat him like it!"

"How I treat him is none of your business!" He shouted.

"Wrong! It IS my business!" I shot back, taking a step back away from the gun that he kept trained on me. "As a member of Scotland Yard, children's crimes are my specialty! And when Ben got assigned to me, that's the instant that he became my sole priority!"

His eyes narrowed. "Scotland Yard?"

"Yes, and I know what happened. I know that you killed your wife along with Mr. and Mrs. Gatiss. I know she died trying to protect the son which you now want so much. Why is that? Is it because he lived? Because with him alive, everything was for nothing?"

"He shouldn't be alive!" he snapped, waving his gun around. "Cassandra was a whore. He wouldn't exist if she hadn't slept around. Yet, there he was, every day reminding me that I wasn't good enough for her!"

"What did you expect to happen when you beat her? That she would just take it?" I stepped back again towards the couch.

"She was mine! Only mine! Then she went and got knocked up by that bastard Politian. She didn't deserve to live and neither did he."

"So you killed them! You killed your wife and tried to kill Benedict!"

"He should have been my son! Not his! They ruined my life!"

I chuckled, which obviously upset him. "Boy, you sure are stupid, aren't you? THEY didn't ruin your life. You did that all on your own!" I suddenly let out a cry as the gun made contact with my head, knocking me down and beside the couch. Perfect. Now if only I could clear my rattled brain long enough to grab hold of my gun.

"You don't know how big of a mistake you made by making me angry, little girl." He growled, cocking his gun.

"I'm not a little girl!" I spun around, having managed to grab my own gun, cocked and pointed at him. "And I'm tired of having you in my house uninvited. I think it's time that you left." I got to my feet and walked towards him, blood rolling down my forehead and into my eye.

He obviously didn't like having a woman stand up to him and in a movement quicker than I had expected, he had changed his aim and fired. A white-hot fire suddenly shot up my arm as my gun dropped against my will and fell to my knees in pain. He then kicked the gun across the room and held his to my head again as I clutched my bleeding wrist.

"I'm not leaving without my son."

"Over my cold, dead body."

He smirked and cocked his gun again. "That can be arranged."

"Zoey!" I heard a small voice cry out and my heart stopped, spotting Ben come running around the hallway corner and into the living room. Sherlock was standing in the hall opening, my gun pointed at the intruder.

"You decided to show up after all. Really, we were beginning to wonder if we would ever be able to rid ourselves of this child." Sherlock said coldly, looking at Ben.

"Then let me have him and your troubles will be over." He growled as Ben had backtracked quickly and was hiding behind Sherlock's legs.

Sherlock smirked. "Highly unlikely. I'm afraid I've finally been proven wrong. It seems I have a heart after all and I cannot, with a good conscience, allow you to leave here with him in tow."

"Then I'll just have to take him by force." He pointed his gun at my head again. Really, this was becoming repetitive and rather tiresome for me. By the time this was over, I could have a gun fired beside my head and I probably wouldn't even flinch. "Give him to me or your wife dies."

"Such a trivial threat. I may have actually considered it if it weren't for one fault with your statement.

"And what would that be?" the man hissed between clenched teeth.

"I'm not his wife!" I said as I swept my leg under his, knocking him over and firing at the ceiling. I scrambled to my feet, arm screaming in pain as I did so. Ben ran around Sherlock and grabbed hold of me.

"You bitch!" our guest clambered to his feet, gun swinging around at us. I gasped and pulled Ben around behind me as not one, but two shots went off; one going off an instant before the other. Ben and I both cried out as I felt the bullet graze my shoulder close to my neck.

"Poor move." Sherlock said as he lowered the gun as the man dropped to the floor, hand to his shoulder and crying out in pain. He turned his attention the two of us, Ben clutching to me, eyes closed tight and my good arm wrapped around him. "You really have to stop instigating these situations when you have a gun pointed at you."

I looked up at him and was quiet as we just stared at one another. "Remember when you asked if I trusted you?"

"Of course." He huffed as he set the gun on the table beside him, all of us ignoring the man bleeding and writhing in pain on my carpet. He made his way over to us and wrapped his hands around my injured wrist, squeezing to stop the bleeding.

"My answer is yes."

He scoffed slightly then let go with one of his hands, reaching into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Oh, yes, Lestrade." I hadn't even him push a button to answer then realized why. "Yes, yes, we're quite fine now. But if you're still on your way, make sure you have some medics with you. Hm?"

"Have you had him in your pocket this whole time?" I asked, stunned.

"Well, I had rung for some back up for you but then you had to cause trouble. Didn't you?" He asked me before returning to his mobile conversation. "Calm down, Lestrade. The medic isn't for me. What do you mean that isn't what you meant?" Sherlock blinked and turned to look at his victim and then at us. "Oh, yes, of course." He looked me over, hand still wrapped around my arm which was complaining to the fullest extent. It was almost enough to make me pass out at this point. "We'll see you in a few."

He hit the end button and slid the phone back into his pocket before putting his hand on my neck. I was then aware that I was bleeding there too; although not as bad as the other injury I had received. "Always protecting a child using yourself as a shield. Must you insist on getting shot every case we have together?"

I sighed, my response making him chuckle. "Why does it always seem to be in my living room?"


	22. Daisies

Chapter Twenty Two: Daisies

Once again, I was in the hospital. I was almost sure it was the same room, but they all looked the same to me, so it could have been a different one. I was waking up in a fog from the anesthetic and was in somewhat of a foul mood due to it. Last time I had a good two day nap to work it all off.

Thanks to Mr. Aris, I was rushed to the hospital with him for surgery to fix whatever had been damaged by the bullet he had sent through my wrist. I, at least, was doing better than he was. Last I heard, he had survived the shot Sherlock had fired at him and was in ICU under police surveillance. He was charged with the murders of Martin Gatiss, and his wife, Elizabeth, along with the murder of the now identified Cassandra Aris. To add to that list was also home invasion, attempted kidnapping of Benedict, Attempted murder of Benedict and myself, along with assaulting a police officer.

It was a pretty good assumption that he was screwed to Sunday and back.

As I looked around the rather boring room, I spotted a vase on the table beside the bed. Turning, I noticed that it was filled with daisies. There were at least twenty of them in a large white and yellow bouquet wrapped with a blue ribbon.

"Daisies?" I mused as I sat up, wincing as my wrist let me know just how it felt about being used at the moment.

"They mean 'Innocence' in the language of flowers." I head a deep voice purr as a figure walked into the room, a slight smirk plastered on his face. "Figuring out your favorite wasn't that difficult. To you, things have to have a meaning somehow. Also, you have simple taste so roses would have been appreciated but you would have felt as if they were too much. Daisies are fairly common and popular among children to make wreathes for their hair. They're also simple in design and so they're the most commonly drawn."

"That's how you figured out I liked daisies?" I raised a brow as I looked from him to the flowers and back.

"There's that and then there's the fact that you had several of them pressed in books." He had his hands in his pockets and he now looked rather bored, as usual. Probably because I had stolen his thunder about how he knew I liked daisies.

"Of course. Your observation skills are, as usual, impeccable."

"Don't patronize me." He sighed, looking over his shoulder as more familiar faces walked in. John smiled when he saw me awake and pulled Ben in behind him, his tiny hand clutching several balloons.

"Zoey!" Ben immediately released John's hand and ran into the room, leaping up and climbing onto the bed as fast as he could. He let the balloons go just above our heads as he threw his arms around my neck. A sudden twinge made me remember the shot that had barely missed me and I wondered how my head had fared. "We got you balloons!"

"Hey, Ben. I can see that." I laughed and wrapped both arms around him, making sure to be careful as I did so. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too! I thought you were going to get really hurt." He pulled back and smiled at me, his face looking different now for some reason. He looked truly happy. He didn't have to worry about anything anymore and his blue eyes sparkled with the relief and joy that was bubbling over. "Thank you for keeping me safe."

"I promised to protect you. Remember?" I smiled and ruffled his hair, making him squirm and laugh, grabbing my arm to stop me. Good thing I used my other hand. "So how have you been while Sherlock is left alone to watch you?"

"Just fine." Sherlock replied flatly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Ben has been with me the whole time." John cut in, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the strings attached to the balloons and brought them down, tying them to the vase.

"Is that so?" I looked over at Sherlock and sighed. "Well, I suppose with the case just about over, he would want to inform Lestrade of all the little details left out."

John just grinned, keeping his eyes on me as Ben looked at Sherlock. "But, he didn't talk to the policeman…"

"What do you mean?" I asked, John stepping closer and leaning in to examine the job the other doctors had performed. I winced as he touched my forehead and he just kept smiling.

"Sherlock never left you. Once you were taken to the hospital, he followed in a cab."

"But why would he do that?" I looked up at Sherlock and moved my hair out of the way so he could check on my neck. "He knew I would be just fine. I wasn't hurt that bad. Not to mention, Donovan came along with me just in case."

"You know Sherlock and his faith in police." John sighed before pulling back suddenly. "Not that he includes you in that category…"

"I know. He doesn't define me as a cop like the others." I smiled and played with Ben's hair as he pulled one of the flowers from their container and looked it over intently. "Although... that being said, I'm not really sure how he defines me."

Sherlock merely leaned against the wall, watching the three of us as John picked up my arm and inspected the bandage.

John didn't answer but pursed his lips in thought. "Have they told you the damage yet?"

"Damage? My hand?" I suddenly got very nervous. "Is it bad?"

"Oh, no!" he said quickly, sensing the anxiety in my voice. "Not at all. Nothing permanent anyway. However, you have to rest it so it can recover properly."

"I can do that."

"You can't use it for six weeks unless absolutely necessary." He looked me in the eyes, serious as he spoke. "You have to wear a sling to keep it immobile and keep your use of it to a minimum. So no lifting, no driving, and in your case…" He paused and I saw him brace himself. "No drawing or painting."

"Excuse me?" I stared wide-eyed at him. If I had been drinking anything it would have been either spit out or I would have choked. "How long?"

"It will be healed before you know it." John tried, smiling slightly. "You keep busy and from what I hear, you need a vacation anyway. This leave of absence could be a good thing."

"When I'm on vacation, all I do is art. It's my time to catch up and relax. How am I supposed to spend my time now?" I turned, looking at Sherlock and pointed. "I blame you!"

"Really, now." He sighed and crossed his arms. "You're behaving childishly. Your dominant hand being unable to function properly for an extended period of time is hardly my fault. Your injury is the consequence of you acting recklessly. Cause and effect, my dear. You cannot blame me for something out of my control."

I sighed and Ben plucked one of the petals from the daisy he held. "Hey…"

"But I want to play the game…" Ben replied as John sighed and left to go talk to the other doctor to compare notes. Sherlock watched us as we talked.

"Game?"

"Do you know the game, Zoey? You pull the petals off and it tells you yes or no." He pulled another petal and held it up for me. "Mummy taught me. Look, I'll show you."

I watched as he picked the petals one by one, smiling as soon as he started his little chant.

"She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not…" My smile grew as he reached the end and held up the stalk, yellow circle like a small sun with a single white feather attached. "She loves me!"

"Who loves you?" I asked, twirling one of his dark locks gently.

"Mummy does." He smiled and then it faded. "But now Mummy is gone…"

"You still have me, though." I kissed his cheek and hugged him. "I love you."

Sherlock looked over when I uttered those words, reacting to them slightly. No doubt I would get a lecture later about loving him when I knew I'd have to turn him over eventually. His eyes almost softened when he saw us smiling on the bed together, however.

"You do realize it's all a matter of even and odd numbering and chance." He said, picking up one of the flowers himself, looking it over quickly.

"But it was never wrong." Ben protested. "It always said Mummy loved me!"

"That's right. How do you know that, if you didn't look ahead of time, it wouldn't tell the truth?"

"Because that's illogical." He huffed simply.

"Shut up and close your eyes." I rolled my eyes and reached over and snatched the daisy from him, replacing it and switching it with a different one. I handed him the new one. "Now, pluck until I say stop."

His brow furrowed but he kept his eyes closed. "This is foolishness, Zoey."

"Amuse me." I grumbled, watching him sighed and pluck each petal one at a time. Halfway through he stopped.

"Really, Zoey. What is the point in all this?" He sighed.

"Entertainment for the drugged American." I smirked, watching a sulking expression cross his face before he sighed and continued. "Okay, stop."

He opened his eyes and saw a single petal clinging to what was left of the once perfect daisy. "Interresting."

"Now you say so." I rolled my eyes and sighed, shaking my head.

"What did it say?" Ben asked, crawling across the bed to look at Sherlock's flower. He took it from him and looked it over before turning his attention back to the detective. He was going to keep asking when John walked back in. "Aww… time to go?" Ben whined.

"Afraid so. Visiting hours are over soon but she'll be released tomorrow. You can spend as much time with her as you want then." John promised, making me nod in agreement. "Come on. Let's go get you some ice cream and then get ready for bed."

Ben kissed my cheek and hugged me one more time before sliding off the bed and running to keep up with the doctor. Once they had disappeared out the door and down the hall, Sherlock leaned over me and put a hand to my forehead, pushing my hair back.

"Mild concussion; shallow laceration to the cranium. Three butterfly bandages." He muttered, releasing my bangs and sliding his hand down to my neck, running a hand over the next injury. "A graze from the bullet, very shallow and slightly burned due to close firing distance. Gauze patch which can be removed fairly soon due to minimal bleeding…" His finger traced the bandage softly; almost tickling.

I was trying to contain the blush which I felt forming and decided to change the topic. "Sherlock, I'm fine. The damage has been done and will soon dissipate. There may be some mild problems remaining after I've healed, but they'll be nothing compared to how they are now."

"You'll scar." He pointed out, standing up.

"Scars have stories." I replied, smiling. My father had often told me that whenever either one of us got hurt.

"Ladies shouldn't have scars." He pointed out, putting his hands in his pockets.

"_Ladies_ shouldn't. However, I am a woman; not a lady." That made him smile a little and shake his head.

"No, you certainly are not a lady." Sherlock shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "A lady wouldn't go insulting men with guns and get herself shot. You are far from any lady I have ever met. Not to mention, you're unlike any woman I've met as well."

I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or not and he could tell. Smiling a little more, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead softly. I was glad this injury didn't require a heart monitor like last time otherwise I would have been rather embarrassed at this point.

When he pulled away he was holding one of the daisies and bowed. "I must be off. I have to inform Lestrade of the details now before Anderson goes and gets everything wrong as usual."

"He's not all that bad." I admitted. Having worked with the man, I discovered he was a totally different person around normal people. Or more specifically, people who weren't Sherlock Holmes. "He's very clever. He's just not as adept at observation so he tends to make mistakes. To err is human. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Quite." He mumbled as he fixed his scarf. "Including me, I take it?"

"You're just as human as the rest of us." I shrugged.

"That's debatable."

"Maybe when I'm not drugged." I smiled and rubbed my neck, massaging a sore muscle. "Although, I am curious… What was the beginning and end of your daisy?"

I saw him turn and head for the door, stopping for a moment to answer before her turned and walked down the hall. He said it rather quietly and it sounded as if he was considering it's meaning instead of just stating it as a fact.

"She loves me."


	23. Family

Chapter Twenty Three: Family

The cookies had been burnt but thanks to a rather nice gesture on John's part, he had saved the remaining batter and made another batch which Ben was currently eating at my house as we watched one of my favorite cartoons growing up. It was rather entertaining watching Sherlock observe the cartoon mouse solving mysteries with his rat arch nemesis always taunting him. God, I love Disney.

Sherlock looked over at me as I ate one of the cookies, my right arm in a sling as I lounged on the couch. Ben lay on his stomach on the floor with his feet in the air, a plate of cookies beside him and a glass of milk with cookie pieces floating around inside due to being dunked. I looked at Ben and smiled then looked up at Sherlock.

"You don't have to stay here. The case is over. We got the guy and I'm okay. John's at work so shouldn't you be as well?"

"As long as benedict is still with you, the case isn't over." He said, locking eyes with me and suddenly making me uncomfortable. "You know you can't keep him, Zoey."

"I won't let him go to a foster home if no family can be found." I replied coldly. I wouldn't let him upset me again. "I knew what I was getting into when I took on this case."

"Did you?" he raised a brow and looked at Ben. "Did you really? You knew you would have to turn him over eventually. You knew that you couldn't take care of him alone forever. You knew you'd be separated one day and yet you still cling to that hope. I can tell. You care too much for him not to give him up easily. You're only setting yourself up for pain. Again."

"I know that." I snapped, keeping my voice controlled so as not to bother Ben. "I can't really keep myself from loving someone, Sherlock. It doesn't work that way."

"Doesn't it?" He raised a brow, questioning me. For some reason, although I knew it was a typical Sherlock reaction, it still hurt more than I thought it would.

"I know you can block your emotions but that doesn't mean everyone can be just like you."

"They can't." He scoffed. "If they could, I'd be out of a job."

"Would you stop and leave your ego out of this?" I growled, shoving my cookie into his mouth to keep him quiet for a while. "I can't stop how I feel. I can keep it from showing, but that doesn't make the feelings go away. If I'm happy, I can pretend I don't care. If I'm mad, I can brush it off. If I'm hurt, I can still smile." He looked perplexed at that statement for a moment before chewing the cookie and swallowing, opening his mouth to respond. However, I had another cookie ready.

"It doesn't matter if I get hurt in the end on this case or not, Sherlock. What matters is that Ben ends up somewhere where he's taken care of, safe, and most of all, loved. If someone can do better than I can, fine. They're welcome to it!" I went to continue but suddenly had cookie in my mouth. After a moment, I realized that there was also a mouth over mine.

Sherlock pulled back and licked his lips free of the chocolate on them from the chips in the cookie. God, he looked way too attractive in that moment for me to stay mad. "Once again; a good distraction to shut you up. Now, if you'll kindly let me continue." I remained silent as I chewed the cookie now in my mouth. I realized then that I made delicious cookies.

"You do know that you're lying to yourself. I can tell; mainly because I know you well enough by now to tell the difference." He leaned back against the couch and watched Ben dunk a cookie in the milk and eat it, his eyes fixed to the television. "You know you have to hand him over but you don't want to. You don't believe anyone will love him more than you aside from his mother. Seeing as how she's no longer an option, you fear that if he leaves you, no one will feel the same about him as you do now. You're motherly instinct has kicked in nearly full swing with him."

I swallowed the cookie and looked at Ben, trying not to let my emotions show through. "Lestrade told me that they tracked down blood relatives on his mother's side… An aunt and uncle. He also has a brother. Well, half-brother. The Gatiss had a seventeen year old son who was out of the country on a mission's trip; that's why we couldn't find or get ahold of him." I smiled. I truly meant it but it didn't reach my eyes. "I hear they're good people. Lestrade said he double and then triple checked them."

"You still have doubts about them." Sherlock mumbled, glancing over at me as I absentmindedly rubbed my wrist in the sling. He reached over and pulled my hand away before I did any damage by accident.

"I meet them tomorrow. That's when Ben…" My voice cracked ever so slightly and I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. "That's when Ben gets to meet his new family."

"You mean his family." Sherlock said simply. "They are his flesh and blood so they are his family. His new family suggests that there was an old family. If you're talking about Cassandra, then yes. They are his new official family. If you meant us, then you're wrong." There was a small pause before he finished that thought. I wished he hadn't. "We were never a family, Zoey. You know it was all an act."

"I know." I said, cold and defensively as I stood up, walking briskly into the kitchen to get another glass of milk.

I shook the woman's hand with my good arm, causing her to look me over, a bit surprised and worried. "It's very nice to meet you Mrs. Freeman." I said as sweetly as I could. She seemed like a nice lady. She looked a lot like her sister; or how I had imagined Cassandra would look. Her husband looked equally nice and had a fatherly air to him already.

"Thank you so much for taking care of our nephew." She said as she looked of out Lestrade's office window at the boy sitting on my desk, swinging his legs as he talked to my boss. About what I could only imagine but it involved large arm movements by the boy and Lestrade just smiling and nodding.

"It was my pleasure." I said, genuinely meaning it. "He's a wonderful boy. Your sister did a wonderful job raising him."

I saw her face fall a little but she smiled back, nodding in agreement. "Yes, she certainly did. She may not have made great choices along the way, but she certainly did the best she could. Especially when it mattered most."

I couldn't argue there and nodded, smiling. "He's a well behaved boy. Very bright."

"He's a clever one, that boy." The deep voice said behind me, sitting in my boss' desk chair. Sherlock had tagged along out of curiosity's sake and observed the three people before us. "Far too guarded though. He needs to open up a bit more." Surprising words coming from such a man but I suspected it was because he realized he didn't want that clever boy ending up like him.

Steven, Benedict's brother, stood against the wall, looking out the office window at the boy with an unreadable expression. They looked a lot alike, those two. Same dark hair and piercing blue eyes.

"You want to be a pilot." Sherlock said suddenly, making the boy look over at him.

"Yes but…" Steven stammered.

"And you, Mrs. Freeman are a teacher. A primary school teacher if I'm not mistaken by the bright green paint in your hair. You also have some glitter on your wrist. No doubt from a creative project." He then turned his attention to her husband. "And you're a pediatrician."

Mr. Freeman nodded and Sherlock looked over at me briefly before he continued. As he continued to tell them openly about what they've done and how he knows it, I realized what he was doing.

He was proving to me if they were worthy or not to take Benedict. A school teacher who specializes in children along with a children's doctor; who better to take care of him?

After a rundown of their life and a brief discussion with Sherlock, the two adults left the room to go talk with Lestrade and Ben as Steven stayed behind, watching them.

"It's incredible…" He muttered, shaking his head as he sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. "I have a brother…"

I didn't want the two of them to get off to a bad start so I stepped in. "I know the age difference might be hard…"

"That's not it." He stopped me and locked eyes with me. Definitely the same eyes. "What's incredible is that he's survived all this and seems perfectly fine. His mother died right in front of him. As did my mother and our father…" He made the family connection without a hint of distain which relieved me. "He's so much stronger than I am, yet he's just a little kid…"

"He's been through a lot." I said thoughtfully as I looked out at Ben who was smiling and getting to know his family. "More than a kid his age should."

"More than he should have at all." Steven sighed. "They were going to try and help him."

"Who were?" I asked, looking back at the boy who could easily be what Ben would look like in ten years.

"My parents." He smiled slightly. "My dad didn't cheat on my mom… Not really anyway. They had a rough bit a few years back and separated for a year or so. I guess that's where he came from." His eyes went to Ben again. "My mom wrote me while I was away explaining everything. She told me that when I came back, I'd have a new little brother to take care of just like I had always wanted." He chuckled but it was a sad sort of laugh. "She was going to take him in. My mom was going to take in a child that wasn't hers but still came from my father."

"She was a good person, Steven…" I said as I put my hand on his shoulder lightly, making him look at me, tears in his eyes.

"She almost died having me… She had wanted another kid…" He help back his sob as he spoke. I knew he was going to break any moment. "He was being hurt. They knew that and his mother just wanted him safe… They were going to protect him…"

Screw the sling. I threw both arms around him in a hug as he cried into my shoulder. My fingers stroked his hair comfortingly as he broke down. How long had he kept back those tears?

"They did protect him." I said quietly as Sherlock watched us, once again giving me a questioning look over my open emotions. "They died protecting him… They kept him safe until the end…"

I let him cry until he felt he was done. I didn't rush him although I knew in a moment I would be feeling the same way. Sure enough, once the office door opened and I saw Ben standing there, I felt a lump grow in my throat.

He ran over and grabbed hold of my leg, which he quickly released when I bent down so he could hold my neck. "I'm going to miss you…" He mumbled into my shoulder. "Can I still visit?"

"Of course! You can come visit me anytime." I held back my own sob this time, unprepared for the flood he would release with his next words.

"I love you, Aunt Zoey…"


	24. Diagnosis

Chapter Twenty Four: Diagnosis

"Well, I'm glad that case is over and that it had a happy ending." John sighed as he plopped down in his chair opposite Sherlock who was sitting tuning his violin absentmindedly. Something was obviously on his mind other than his instrument at the moment. "Aren't you glad as well, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up at john for a moment, as if coming back to reality before he answered. "Yes, quite a relief not to have to worry about Benedict anymore."

"What was that?" John leaned forward in his chair a bit. Had he heard his friend correctly? "Did you just call him by name?"

Sherlock appeared puzzled. "Why shouldn't I? The child does have a name."

"Yes, but for the last couple of weeks you've hardly spoken of him and when you have, you distanced yourself by avoiding anything associated with being familiar or intimate with him." John said as he watched Sherlock return to fixing the stringed object resting across his arm.

"He is no longer any of my concern and is more of an acquaintance than anything at present."

John was stunned. "He lived with you for how long and he's only an acquaintance? Really, Sherlock."

"Not that we won't keep in contact in the future." Sherlock cut in, motioning with his bow to an envelope on the table. "His aunt has already made a point of keeping in touch with us."

John picked up the envelope and opened it, seeing several pieces of paper. One had neat feminine handwriting while the others had crayon drawings on them. "You've grown attached." John stated as he started reading the letter.

"It doesn't happen often but on occasion I can develop a small bond between another human that I relate to in some fashion." Sherlock shrugged. "If they are of interest or use to me."

"How is he of use or interesting?" John asked as he flipped through the colored images. "I can tell that for the majority of time, Lestrade and I are merely around for you to use. However, Zoey interests you. You've said so before. Also, her heart comes in handy for you. So she is not doubt filed away in both categories. But what of Ben?"

Sherlock's fingers froze on the strings he had been testing and his eyes locked on a spot on the wall across the room. "He was vital to finding the killer."

"At the time. But now what good is he to you?" The doctor mused as he stood up to get a drink. "He's just a child. He's not incredibly knowledgeable or strong. He knows barely a fraction of what you know, not to mention he's still extremely fragile and emotional; traits which most view as weaknesses… So why bother keeping him around?"

Sherlock's jaw clenched. John had been playing devil's advocate and been pushing him and he knew it. He was pestering for an answer and Sherlock was having a hard time finding one for once.

"Because he's demonstrated several aspects in life which I deemed of importance." Sherlock replied carefully.

"Such as?"

Sherlock sighed and set down his violin back in its home. "He was a prime example of how humans can recover from horrible situations and still seem the good in people after so much evil. That act, I view as foolish but at times useful when integrating back into society." He closed the case and set it down beside his chair. "He also was a very interesting subject to study when relating to Zoey. Her actions changed around him than when she was around her peers. When we encountered one another again, she had changed so that she was almost unrecognizable. However, when interacting with Ben, she reverted back into her old self."

"What was wrong with her new self?" John asked as he returned from the kitchen with his glass of water, seeing as how they were out of milk again. "She's a young woman who matured over time. She wanted to look professional and respectable."

"And she did but one could sense she felt as if her skin weren't on right. Benedict brought you what she had been missing in the last year during her change. She had been hired by Lestrade and thrust into a more grown up world that she had only heard of. As such, she overcompensated for her feelings of being a child in her father's world that she lost herself. Surely you saw it, John."

John took a drink and looked at Sherlock with a brow slightly raised. "Sherlock, her surroundings changed. Her peers changed."

"So she changed. If you noticed, it was more than her clothes or hair." He waved his hand about his head as he spoke. "She had a fire back then that had intrigued me. Her innocence and youth. She was aware of the danger and evil in the world yet she acted as Benedict did; she overlooked all that and found the good." He paused as he mulled that over. "She had forgotten about that. Something happened to where she was overwhelmed by humanity that it took an act of evil to remind her of that."

"Ben." John breathed as he figured out what Sherlock had been speaking about. "She had started doing what her father had warned her of, after all then."

"Becoming hard to the world?" Sherlock asked. "Yes. Quite. But as I scolded her repeatedly, she saw Ben as a substitute for her brothers; bonding to him. She started loosening up little by little, if you noticed. She began to relax more and went back to the life she was comfortable with."

"But now that Ben is gone, won't she revert back?" John asked.

"One can only wait and see, John. However, I would very much like for her to stay with the way she is at present."

John perked up a bit at that comment. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Zoey is someone I can rely on, like you. I would dare to call her my friend. However, there's something about her friendship with me that I cherish more than yours. Not that I don't hold your friendship as dearly as I can, John. I favor certain traits of yours over her as well. Such as your ability to see a body and not break down in tears; most inconvenient when she does that. When she does that it puts me at quite a loss at times."

"And why is that?" John asked, trying not to smile.

"Something just doesn't seem right when she cries." Sherlock said, almost mulling his answer over as he spoke. "I've seen her, spent time with her. I know how strong she can be and yet when she cries I don't like it. She shouldn't cry. It makes no sense when she can take so much and yet break down at the smallest little thing!"

"Well, for one.." john started, still holding back a smile. "she's a woman and they can be emotional. Two: well, it's Zoey. She's sensitive to certain things that you and I have been numbed to. That's why you keep her around. Or at least… part of it."

"What do you mean: part of it?" Sherlock sat up and looked at his companion, head cocked slightly.

"Well… Let me start off with a question. What would you do if I went far away? Say, to Wales."

"Wales isn't that far, John." Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly.

"Hush. I'm doing my own experiment. What would you do or how would you feel if I went to Wales and you didn't know when I would be back?" John asked.

"You're a fully capable adult, John. And it's only Wales."

"Fine then. What if Zoey went?"

"Why would Zoey go to Wales?" Sherlock asked, making John sigh.

"I don't know. A job assignment perhaps? Just answer the question. Zoey got sent to Wales for a business trip and the job could last anywhere from a few days to a few months so you don't know when she'll return."

"I would… be worried." Sherlock said carefully. "I would be concerned for you as well, John, but Zoey leaving somehow gets me uneasy."

"Uneasy how?" John let his grin escape as he watched Sherlock apparently fidget slightly.

"Really, John. Must I get into detail about such trivial expressions of mild emotion? I am human as much as others would like to dispute that fact. She's someone I hold dear, like yourself, but she's more… vulnerable I suppose." His brow furrowed. "Something about the thought of Zoey leaving even for a small increment of time makes me slightly uneasy…"

"Anxious?" John offered, making Sherlock look at him skeptically. "Just offering suggestions. Well, I have a question and your answer may tell me what your problem is." There was silence as Sherlock waited, still questioning him. "How do you feel when Zoey is around? Either one on one or with others around."

Sherlock made a rather puzzling face. "What do you mean how do I feel around her?"

"Happy?" John offered.

"Hardly a proper description, John. If what you're meaning is that I feel comfortable around her… I do. I feel comfortable around her. " He ran a hand through his hair. "She doesn't judge me. I don't have to worry about her opinion of me but I do. It seems like hers is the only one that truly matters. Which is strange. I've never cared about anything except for the fact that I was right."

John grinned and folded his hands together. "I believe I have a diagnosis for you, Mr. Holmes."

"And what would that be, dear Doctor?"

"You're in love!"


	25. Goodbye

Chapter Twenty Five: Goodbye

Sherlock stared at John as if he had gone mad. "You know love is an area I avoid at all costs, John. The emotions involved cloud judgments and often cause one to overlook vital information due to personal opinions."

"Just because you avoid it doesn't mean you still won't encounter it." John grinned. "Whether you like it or not, Sherlock, you are human. You have human emotions no matter how hard you ignore them or brush them off. Love especially is an emotion people have the hardest time controlling. Even you. You've fallen for Zoey."

"John, that is highly unlikely. I, of all people…" He faded off as Mrs. Hudson walked in.

"Sherlock, that lovely American girl dropped this off for you. Said something about being in a hurry an unable to stay long enough to do it herself." She made her way across the room before handing him a box. "And for heaven's sakes! Clean up after yourselves! I'm surprised neither of you haven't broken an ankle tripping over something in here."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as she closed the door behind her, opening the box in his hands. John watched as Sherlock's eyes went wide then narrowed, pulling out a piece of paper folded up in the box.

"What is it?" John asked, leaning forward a bit in his chair.

"John. We're going on a holiday. Pack quickly." Sherlock snapped the box closed, setting it on the table as he walked over it and into his own room to pack.

"Pack? Sherlock…" John sighed and shook his head as he stood up, pausing to pick up the piece of paper and box curiously. He read the letter, written in Zoey's slightly messy handwriting. No doubt she scribbled it down in a hurry like Mrs. Hudson said she had been.

"Dear Sherlock." The letter read as John scanned it quickly. It was a rather short note. "I'm sorry I couldn't return this in person but I'm going back to America to visit my family while I recover. I will stop by when I return to make sure you haven't gotten yourself killed. I'm returning this since I no longer have need of it. –Zoey. "

"She's leaving?" John mumbled as he glanced back at Sherlock's room before opening the box. "Odd… she didn't give a return date…" He paused before reaching in and holding up a small silver band between his fingers. It was the ring Sherlock had given her for the case.

"John!" Sherlock's voice shouted as John heard rustling from the other side of the door. "Make sure you grab your passport."

Mycroft waited outside his car, his umbrella open over his head as the London rain beat against it. He watched as Zoey handed off a small package to Sherlock's landlady before she ran down the stairs back towards him. It didn't take long for her to get nearly soaked but he held out his umbrella enough to cover them both as he opened the door for her.

"Are you sure you don't want to give that to him yourself?" He asked as she slid onto the passenger seat and wrung out her hair quickly.

"Yeah." She replied, sounding rather skeptic herself. "I would have gotten tangled in conversation and would probably miss my flight. It's better I didn't see him."

"You don't seem the type not to say goodbye face to face." He said as he closed the door, moving around to the driver's side and getting in. Zoey was quiet as he started the car. "You still have enough time to pop in for a few moments."

"No, just go…" Zoey answered quietly as she looked out her window. "I never do well with goodbyes."

"It's not like you're leaving England for good." Mycroft shrugged as he started driving. He had been pleasantly surprised by her farewell call and had insisted on seeing her off himself. "You had consideration enough to ring and tell me in person. It just seems strange that you don't do equal, if not more for my brother."

"He wouldn't care either way." She mumbled as she continued looking out her window. "I don't see a point in exerting energy to make an effort where it would be wasted."

"Funny you should say that now." Mycroft looked over at her as he stopped at a light. "You've put forth so much effort already." When she didn't reply he continued the rest of the trip in silence until the airport was in view. "Shouldn't you have liked a hug goodbye at least?"

She fidgeted slightly and he smirked. "He doesn't do hugs. You know that."

"Well a handshake or acknowledging your departure at least." His eyes looked the girl over. Her hair was down due to the troubles of pulling it up with her arm constantly in a sling. Her left hand was tapping her knee in a rather nervous fashion as she continued to look out at the rain. "I see you returned it."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, young lady. I know you better than you know yourself. Better than my brother even."

"Don't say you know me! You're sounding like him!" she snapped slightly, more annoyed then mad. Sherlock had claimed several times to know her and every time she knew she could prove him wrong.

"That's what you may like to believe, Zoey, but I do know you better than you think. You gave it back to him for a reason different than you made yourself believe."

"The ring?" She glanced over at him this time and he noticed her cheeks flush slightly as her eyes then darted down at her hand, her thumb moving to rub where the ring would be.

"You knew it had no meaning to him so why give it back? Why couldn't you say goodbye to him properly?"

"Because… It seems expensive and he bought it. It rightfully belongs to him." She looked back out the window. "It was a prop for the case. He may need it again so I have no business keeping it. And I didn't say goodbye to him because I knew he wouldn't care. He didn't care last time when he stopped talking to me for almost a year; without warning. I cried, passed out, and punched Anderson as he watched. We tracked down Melissa and my brothers… I almost died in front of him!" she closed her eyes tightly as she nearly shouted the last part. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "I thought of him as a friend. I formed a stronger bond to him than he did with me. Why bother saying goodbye when he wouldn't do the same for me? Every time I try to get closer to him I just get hurt."

"You're trying to convince yourself with an excuse that makes just as much sense as your true reason. The last bit you said was true, however your reasoning on the ring was not… I may not know you dead on but I at least know what's going through your head. Based on your fidgeting, you raising your volume, shifting eyes… I may not be a doctor, but I believe I can… diagnose your predicament."

"Do tell, doctor." She rubbed her shoulder where the sling strap rested.

Mycroft slowed the car to a gentle stop then turned to face Zoey. Since he said nothing for the longest time, she looked up at him. He was staring right into her eyes. "You are in love. In love with my brother." He concluded. "That's why you gave the ring back."

"How does my returning the ring connect to loving him?" Her face was flushed but she didn't want to admit he was right.

"Because to you, the ring meant something even if it didn't to him. For the brief time you were 'Mrs. Holmes' you were allowed to act upon your feelings openly without him being judgmental or suspicious. However, now that your role has ended, the ring is only a reminder of what you had and lost."

He suddenly regretted having said anything as she teared up and looked at him. "You're right…" She forced a smile and attempted to wipe away her tears. "That's why I'm going back to the States for a while… I need a break. I need space."

"You're wording it strangely." Mycroft mused as he wiped Zoey's cheeks with a handkerchief. "Why don't you just say you're going home?"

"Because I'm not…" She smiled a little more, still looking hurt. "Home is where the heart is, remember? If that's true… then my heart is stuck here."

Mycroft smiled and got out of the car, grabbing Zoey's bags for her before opening the door, umbrella at the ready. As soon as she stepped out he kissed her forehead. "You're always welcome here, Zoey. If England is your home than I shall be sure that it continues to feel like one. I shall nag my brother as much as needed for that to happen."

"Thanks, Mycroft. I appreciate it but I think I'd rather have Sherlock either like me or hate me on his own terms. If being his friend is all I shall ever be, than I shall learn to grin and bear it and move on with my life."

"Easier said than done, I'm afraid." He smiled and held the airport door open for her just in time to see another woman collide with the smaller female body. "Oh, greetings again, Miss Pagent."

"Hello, Mycroft." Sydney said as she hugged Zoey tightly, releasing her friend after the blonde let out a yelp of pain from her wrist being trapped between them. "You sure you have to go?"

Zoey smiled at her companion as Mycroft and Sydney both helped her with her bags. "I was told to take a holiday to recover and it's been a while since I saw my family. I won't be gone forever."

"I know but…" Sydney looked at Mycroft then leaned in closer to Zoey to whisper. "Running away just because of a guy isn't a very good reason to leave."

"You don't have to whisper. Mycroft knows."

"Indeed I do. I apparently knew of Miss McCarron's feelings before she knew what they were herself." Mycroft smiled and handed Zoey her baggage claim tag.

"Well, she is rather dense when it comes to matters of love. She knows all about loving but not about true love. Especially when it comes to interpreting her own feelings. " Sydney gave Mycroft a knowing grin as the man nodded in agreement.

"I am standing right here, you know." Zoey rolled her eyes, shaking her head and smiling. She took a deep breath before she heard a warning call for her flight and turned. "That's me."

Sydney hugged her again, whispering in her ear as she held on. "You take it easy, okay? No getting shot abroad. And don't worry, I'll check up on him for you while you're away." She released her friend and smiled again. "Be sure to make contact with me whenever you can so I know you're still alive and really coming back."

"I'm coming back. Don't worry. I'm just not sure when." Her smile faded slightly and Mycroft took her left hand, kissing the back of it. Her smile returned and she kissed his cheek in return. "I'll be sure to keep the government aware of my movements."

"See that you do. Miss Pagent would hate to have to have me file an alert to find you and bring you home by force."

"No I wouldn't." Sydney grinned. "I think it would be rather amusing, actually. Although I bet Mycroft already has agents posted somewhere in the shadows or a homing beacon on your shirt collar." She looked over at Mycroft who's face almost seemed overly innocent, almost considering doing just that.

"You two….Really." Zoey shook her head smiling. "I really need to go but I promise ill keep in touch. And don't worry. I'll be fine."

She looked back at them waving once more before she rounded the corner to find her terminal. She still had some time and decided just to read the arrivals and departures to kill the time. As she watched the names switch, she was suddenly away of a man standing beside her. She shouldn't have been surprised at who it was but her instincts still caused her to jump back a step.

"You!"

"Leaving us so soon, now are we?" Jim tossed her a casual smile, hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts. He was, for some reason, wearing a red Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses which he had perched on top of his head.

"You can't get rid of me that easy, Jim." Zoey shot back once she regained herself. She was mentally cursing the sling for making it painfully obvious of her injury and current weakness.

"Of course. You've already proven that once before." He scanned down her body until his eyes came to rest on her stomach. "Of course, I also proved myself to you as well."

"Somehow I highly doubt you're being forced to flee the country so, what are you doing here?"

Jim smirked and pointed up at a nearby camera which was pointed at them currently. "We're currently in one of the busier areas of this terminal. There are three cameras focused on us. However, with the help of some of my…. Friends…" He made quotations with his fingers as he said that, glancing over at the camera again as it turned away from them. "The other two will do the same in a moment if you'll be kind enough to observe."

Zoey took a step away from Jim as the other two did as Jim had said. "What is the point of all this? You obviously aren't going to kill me just because the cameras are off. There's still too many witnesses."

His smile faded into a serious and cold look only for an instant before he reached out a hand and grabbed her shoulder, a friendly smile appearing on his face. "I just wanted to say au revoir! Bon voyage!" His voice took on the perfect French fluctuations as he spoke. "Or would you prefer 'happy trails'?" He now sounded perfectly American as he grinned evilly at Zoey. "I see you returned the ring. A wise decision. Staying with Sherlock so far has only given you grief and put you in danger. Not that you're any safer now than you were before. I'm still rather upset about your rejection and your actions _scarred_ me." He acted hurt but she knew to what he was referring. "In any case, my dear," His accent was still in the sickeningly familiar Midwestern tone Zoey was so familiar with hearing periodically back home. "You have a plane to catch."

She jerked her shoulder free only to have him pull her back for a hug, on arm around her waist and the other cradling the back of her head. "Enjoy your vacation, Sweety. I'll be waiting for you."

Once he let go, she was aware of the people around them who had watched their apparent loving goodbye and once more continued to play along. She walked backwards away from him and smiled sweetly as she neared her gate.

"Bye, Honey. Don't have too much fun while I'm away." She blew a kiss and then walked away, past the ticket checker, waving as she grew further away.

As Moriarty watched, his lips twisted into a grin once more as Zoey's wave turned into a single finger fully expressing her true deep-seated feelings towards him.

"Farewell, Zoey. I can't wait. I'll be waiting…."

To be continued in "Secrets of the Sisterhood" 


End file.
